The Agents
by BloodFromTheThorn
Summary: Modern secret agents AU. Why would d'Artagnan go after the man who killed his father with a gun, when he could use a bomb instead? The meeting of our heroes and how they became a team, working in the shadows for the good of France. And bonus computer geek d'Art. Entry for the 2014 Big Bang.
1. Chapter 1

_Did you know that this is my first AU? At least, I think it is. I'm pretty sure. So yay. _

_I've been meaning to write a modern AU of the musketeers since I first saw the show and since I'm a part of the big bang, I figured this might be a good place to start._

* * *

><p>Athos was exhausted. He'd not been home in two weeks since Treville had decided that his skills would be of most use in South America of all places, despite the fact that for all his education, he barely spoke two words of Spanish and even less Portuguese. When he'd questioned the Captain's motive, he'd just shrugged and said that was what Aramis was for. Their sniper-turned-linguist had been both smug and offended at the implication there.<p>

In all it amounted to a fortnight of utter ridiculousness that left Athos questioning why he ever thought it would be a good idea to befriend the loud-mouthed, flirtatious Chilean and wishing that he could just collapse into his own bed. He'd never slept well in hotels, even Before.

As soon as he walked through his front door, he knew something was wrong. The alarm had already been deactivated – he never left without switching it on – and some of the clutter on the side table in the hallway had been moved, just a little. Someone had been here.

'_No,' _he corrected himself when he felt ice shiver down his spine, _'someone _is_ here.' _He had his gun in his hand before the thought had even truly processed and moved sideways so that he was hugging the wall. Aramis and Porthos were still out by the car, gathering the things they'd need for the night (Aramis had informed them that the elevator in his apartment building was broken and he had absolutely no intention of walking up twelve flights of stairs tonight so one of them would just have to deal with him. Porthos' apartment was barely big enough for the man himself, let alone a house guest as sprawling as Aramis so Athos had grudgingly offered him a sofa that had somehow evolved into 'sleepover at Athos' place' without any input from him besides mild disgruntlement.) and they'd be there any moment.

There was no point in trying to stay hidden; whoever was here would have heard him come through the door – he hadn't been trying to be subtle.

"Who's there?" He called out, pleased that he was able to sound even and calm. He could have been commenting on the weather.

There was a vaguely surprised pause and then a voice called out from the living room, "In here."

Keeping his gun up in front of him, Athos moved carefully to the doorway and flicked on the light. There was a man – little more than a boy, actually – sat on his sofa calmly with a laptop perched on his knees and a SIG Pro 2022 beside him on the cushion. He looked thoroughly unbothered by the gun pointing in his direction.

"Who are you and what are you doing here? You law enforcement?" It was a logical leap considering he had entered uninvited and was carrying the standard issue sidearm of Parisian police.

The man laughed a little – it was an unhappy noise – and shook his head. "Not even close, I'm afraid. As for the other questions, my name is d'Artagnan and I'm here to kill you."

As he spoke, Athos became aware that Aramis and Porthos had appeared at his shoulders, hands on their own weapons as they calculated the situation. Unsettled and more than a little confused, Athos frowned at him. "If you're killing me, you might be a little outnumbered."

"That doesn't matter," d'Artagnan replied breezily, glancing up from his laptop only momentarily before freezing. "I wouldn't touch that if I were you," he snapped.

Nonplussed, Athos took a quick glance round and saw Porthos with his hand half extended to an innocuous duffle bag on the floor by their feet – it wasn't his. Porthos glanced at him with a look of intense worry and muttered, "Athos, that thing is beeping."

d'Artagnan scoffed a little. "Of course it's beeping. Bombs tend to."

Athos could feel this situation rapidly spinning away from him and goddamn it, all he'd wanted was to go to sleep. He was too tired for this shit. "You brought a bomb into my house?"

"It's only insurance. You don't try to shoot me and I won't trigger it – happy?" d'Artagnan actually looked a little irritated that he'd been side tracked from whatever it was he was doing on that laptop.

Athos lowered his gun a little, still wary but unwilling to do anything that might break d'Artagnan out of his bizarre calm. "So you came here to kill me. Might I ask why?"

The man sighed and finally looked up properly. "I wasn't being wholly honest. I came here to talk to you and depending on what I learned, leave here peacefully or shoot my way out. Though I must admit, the latter seems more likely."

"Have we met before?"

"No. You met my father once."

"Oh?"

"You killed him."

Well, that made things make a little more sense. Revenge was a much more understandable motive for all of this than a desire for random carnage. "I will admit to having killed people in the past – it's hard not to in my line of work. But the men I kill have never given me any choice," he said honestly. He'd never killed anyone that wasn't trying to kill him, except for one person, and that person sure as hell wasn't this kid's father.

"Don't lie to me," d'Artagnan warned, and he said it so damn _calmly, _as though this whole thing was happening to someone else, not to him. He laughed mirthlessly for a moment. "His last words were your name. It was harder to find you than I expected. There aren't many Athos' in the world so I figured it would be a short search but you are one well hidden man. It took me longer than it should have done to realise 'Athos' might be a code name."

"There aren't many people who could learn that name," Porthos pointed out, sounding uncertain. "Are you a Musketeer?"

d'Artagnan laughed again, more genuinely this time and shook his head. "God no. Do you get many Musketeers in here, out for revenge? I'm not police, army, secret service, nothing. I'm just good with computers."

"You couldn't have hacked into the Musketeers' database. That thing is impenetrable," Aramis scoffed in disbelief.

"Nothing is impenetrable," d'Artagnan retorted. "But in this case, you are correct. It would have taken too long to get into your system so I found a back door instead. The Red Guards have plenty of data about you three."

"Richelieu," Porthos cursed under his breath. Just one more reason to hate the man, Athos supposed.

"What was your father's name?"

"Alexandre d'Artagnan of Lupiac. You shot him twice in the gut nine days ago."

The voice in Athos' head marvelled, _'You found me with nothing but a name in nine days?' _but what he said out loud was "Nine days ago I was in Santiago, Chile, trying to work out if the man we were looking for had been there recently. I was most certainly not shooting anyone, let alone a Gascon I'd never met."

For the first time in this whole bizarre situation, d'Artagnan looked uncertain. He stared at Athos piercingly for a moment and then asked, "What name did you travel under?"

"Athos de Breuil," he answered easily. If proving his innocence meant that d'Artagnan would disarm the bomb sat at their feet then he would do so willingly. Once they were free from its threat, he had every intention of arresting him.

d'Artagnan typed for a moment, eyes flickering from the screen to the three of them and back again, calculating. After a long moment he seemed to sag into the sofa beneath him, looking utterly defeated.

"Well?"

"It would seem that unless you have a twin – and your birth certificate tells me you did not – then you did not kill my father."

"You have my _birth certificate?"_ Athos squeaked in surprise, even as Aramis butted in with, "So you'll disarm your little bomb then?"

D'Artagnan's eyes went from the bag, to their guns, to his own weapon sat beside him. "And if I do that, how exactly am I supposed to get out of here?"

"How did you even get _in?_" Athos asked belatedly, suddenly realising that it should have been impossible.

"Back door."

"It was locked."

"Locks are easily picked. Even ones as complicated as yours."

"There was an alarm."

"I told you, I'm good with computers. When your alarm goes off, it sends a signal to the local police via the internet, meaning that it has the capability to do so. If something connects to the internet, I can get in."

"Athos," Porthos whined softly, glancing down meaningfully at the bag again. In all his confusion and exhaustion, Athos' body didn't seem to understand that he was in mortal danger here and he wasn't reacting quite like a sane human being should.

He turned back to d'Artagnan. "You came here to find out if I killed your father and kill me if I did. I didn't. Are you planning on killing us anyway?"

d'Artagnan actually looked a little offended by that. "No, of course not. But if I turn that bomb off now, you're going to try and arrest me and I cannot let that happen. You didn't kill my father but someone did and I fully intend to see them dead, even if it means they drag me into the grave too. It's pretty hard to get revenge from inside a prison cell."

"Would your father want you to get yourself killed, avenging him?"

"My father didn't want to die. Shit happens."

"So what are you planning on doing now kid?" Porthos asked, starting to sound truly strained. "If you're not going to detonate the bomb-"

"I didn't say I wouldn't. I just don't want to."

"But if you do detonate it, who's going to get revenge for your father?" Aramis pointed out. "You're hardly protected."

d'Artagnan's eyes dropped to the bag again – he obviously hadn't considered that. "I…" he started, then hesitated. "I guess I didn't actually expect to be leaving here at all."

"Well," Athos started, taking a measured step forwards carefully, "If you're not planning on blowing us all to hell, I think we'd all appreciate it if you would disarm it."

He hesitated for a long moment before he sighed and reached for his pocket. The movement wasn't threatening but the three of them were too wired to see it as anything but an attack and Athos stepped back quickly as their guns rose in unison. d'Artagnan flinched a little then froze.

"That bomb will still go off if you shoot me now so I wouldn't suggest it as a course of action. I'm just reaching for my phone, alright?"

Aramis squinted at him. "How is shooting you going to set it off?"

d'Artagnan rotated his hand carefully so that they could see the inside of his wrist, revealing what looked like an IV line leading to the pocket he had reached for. "It's monitoring my pulse. My heart stops and they're going to be rebuilding your house."

"For some kid looking to get revenge, your plan is pretty brutal," Porthos pointed out as d'Artagnan fished the phone out of his pocket slowly.

"I learned enough in the Red Guard files to know that I shouldn't underestimate you three. I figured it was always better to be prepared and I didn't much care about survival once I was done." He tapped on his phone screen a few times and the bag on the floor suddenly emitted a rapid staccato of high pitched beeps – Athos thought for a heart stopping moment that d'Artagnan had lied and had triggered the bomb anyway but then the room went dead silent, apart from the over-loud sound of their breathing.

d'Artagnan hissed a little as he pulled the wire away from his wrist, revealing the needle that had been inch deep in his flesh. Athos felt his own skin twinge in sympathy. "Well then, _officers, _are you arresting me?"

Aramis and Porthos both looked at Athos for instruction, deferring to him as their leader in all situations. He thought about it. "You want to go after whoever it was that shot your father?"

"Yes."

"You'll kill him when you find him?"

"Yes."

"Admitting premeditated murder to three secret agents? Great plan," Aramis muttered, clearly feeling a little sore at being so horrendously diverted from his plan to burrow into Athos' sofa for at least 24 hours.

d'Artagnan glared. "I'm not a liar."

"Just someone that can hack my alarm, pick my locks and create a bomb?" Athos replied with a little bitterness himself. He'd really been looking forwards to bed. "And find my birth certificate apparently. Seriously, _I _don't even know where it is."

"I'm _good with computers. _Though I'll admit, the lock picking does look a little suspicious."

"Just a little," Aramis replied sullenly.

Porthos frowned a little at him, stung. "I could pick locks before I met you. You never judged me for that, did you?"

"That was different," Aramis defended. "You had no choice."

"Maybe he didn't either. Sure he just tried to kill us all, but we don't know jack shit about him," Porthos reasoned carefully. Athos listened to them bicker for a moment before sighing and rubbing at his eyes.

"This man you're after, he called himself Athos?"

d'Artagnan shrugged a little helplessly, looking a whole lot smaller now that he wasn't holding a bomb over their heads. He looked like a child who had swum out of their depth. "I don't know, I wasn't there. I heard the gun go off and I ran in but by the time I got to him, the attacker was already gone. My father repeated Athos a few times before…" He stopped there, looking away quickly.

Athos sighed again, feeling every hour of his life weighing on his bones. He looked at the thoughtful Porthos and the irritated Aramis and then to d'Artagnan. It might be a stupid decision but then it was already past midnight and the best of worst decisions always happened in the early hours – it might come out alright. He was already down the rabbit hole; he might as well head for Wonderland.

"If someone is killing people under my name, I want to know about it. d'Artagnan? How do you feel about working with the Musketeers?"

* * *

><p>Twelve months later, and Athos knew with absolute certainty that he had made the right decision that day. d'Artagnan had proved his worth twenty times over and, despite initial hostility, he'd fitted in brilliantly with their team. Treville had been badgering him for years that Team Alpha needed a fourth member (though when he'd met d'Art for the first time, he'd yelled at Athos saying that he'd meant for the fourth person to be '<em>oh I don't know, an actual agent?'<em>) and now, he'd gotten his wish. Of course, d'Artagnan wasn't actually a Musketeer yet, but he was certainly on his way.

Athos also knew that allowing d'Art and Aramis to become friends had been an awful, _awful _idea. "Please," he begged over the comms, not for the first time, "_please, _just stop, alright? Can we at least pretend to be professional about this?"

He was immediately replied to with _"He started it,"_ in unison. He sighed heavily and focussed on his mark again. "Porthos?"

"_I see him. I can't get across the plaza though, there's too many guards."_

"d'Art, can you give us a distraction?"

"_Did you have anything in mind?" _He sounded far too cheerful in the tense atmosphere but that had always been how Aramis and him had dealt with the stress. Athos couldn't really fault him for it.

"Just try and clear some of the men. It's too crowded for Porthos and I to get close."

"_One distraction, coming right up." _Their usual strategy for such things was to have d'Artagnan nearby, surrounded by his beloved computers, Athos and Porthos on the ground and Aramis perched on a rooftop, rifle in hand, watching over them all. It was a system that worked well for them.

Athos watched as the Russian diplomat and war criminal they were after saluted at the crowd and moved to step off the stage. It would be so much easier if they just had to eliminate him, but Treville had specifically ordered that they bring him in alive for questioning – regardless, he knew that Aramis would be sat somewhere with his finger on the trigger. They all cultivated a special sort of disgust for the kind of man Dagarov was.

"_We'll lose him in this crowd Athos,"_ Porthos warned.

"Aramis can keep tabs. d'Artagnan, where the hell is this distraction?"

"_Give a guy thirty seconds, won't you? I can only type so fast."_

"Less talking, more typing. We're on the clock here."

There was a disgruntled huff, followed a moment later by a burst of rapid fire Russian and then very soft cheer of triumph as every guard in the vicinity suddenly put a hand to their radio to listen to the message. Athos had to smile as he saw a large group of them move away, down towards the far end of the plaza and out of his sight.

"Nice job."

"_You speak Russian?"_ Aramis asked in surprise.

"_Конечно__, __не так ли?__" _

"_You are, of course, aware that none of us know what you just said."_

"_Yep," _d'Artagnan replied happily, popping the 'p.'

"How long do we have?" Athos couldn't let them distract him from the mission. They couldn't screw this one up or Treville would have his head.

"_I told them that they had to investigate a disturbance two streets over. Should buy you ten minutes at least."_

"Porthos?"

"_Moving into position now."_

"Aramis?"

"_I've got eyes on you both."_

"Okay. Let's do this and then get the hell out of here. It's too damn hot for this shit." It was actually a perfectly temperate 27 degrees but Athos was feeling just a little bitter about being sent on a mission so soon after getting off their last one. He'd really been hoping for at least a week of lazing around in the Parisian summer with nothing more to worry about than whatever mischief Aramis and d'Art were causing.

But it wasn't the time to worry about that now. With casual ease, Athos made his way through the thick crowd, making sure that the bodies pressing against him were never able to feel the handgun tucked into his holster and saw out of the corner of his eye Porthos doing the same. He'd almost made it to Dagarov when d'Artagnan spoke up again.

"_Err, guys? We might have a problem."_

Immersed in the crowd, Athos couldn't talk into his comms piece without looking like a crazy person and drawing attention, so it was Aramis who replied. _"What sort of problem?"_

"_The sort of problem where an APB just went out, warning everyone in the vicinity that four men were here to take Dagarov."_

Crazy or not, Athos needed in on this conversation. He ducked towards Porthos and snatched at his arm, leaning close that they looked like they were talking to each other. "How is that possible?" He snapped irritably. "The only people who know we're here are Musketeers."

"And Richelieu," Porthos pointed out.

"He wouldn't betray us outright like this," Athos disagreed.

"Unless he thought that we'd all be killed and unable to implicate him."

"_It might be on his system," _d'Artagnan pointed out. _"I hack in there often enough to know that someone else would be able to if they knew where to look. It's not exactly a complicated encryption."_

"_I don't think this is the major issue right now," _Aramis reminded them. _"The guards are trying to get Dagarov out of here. They're heading to a convoy at the top of the plaza. If we're doing this now, we have to do it quickly."_

"We'd never make it. He'll be surrounded by guards," Porthos said firmly.

Athos grimaced. "But if we leave him, they'll ferret him away to a secure facility that we can't enter without causing a multitude of diplomatic incidents. Treville would skin us." He thought hard and quickly, aware that their window of opportunity was bleeding away quickly. "Maybe if we could get the crowd to scatter then we could get close enough to hijack one of the vehicles. d'Art, can you give us something to work with?"

"_With pleasure."_

"Aramis, be ready to start shooting. Only go for clean shots, we can't afford collateral on this one."

"_Have you ever known me to miss?"_

"Just a reminder. Porthos, you ready?" The big man grinned and nodded, adrenaline burning bright in his eyes. "d'Artagnan?"

"_Ready?" _

"Do it." There was a momentary delay and then a muffled explosion before smoke started pouring out of shattered windows from a building a few hundred metres away. Athos, like all the civilians around him, stared at it in blank surprise for a moment before he rallied himself and took off after Porthos, their mad dash covered by the swarming, terrified crowd all around them.

"Jesus shit d'Art, what the hell was that?" He yelled hoarsely, coughing a little as the smoke filtered through the plaza.

"_The building was empty and registered for demolition anyway. I just gave it a nudge in the right direction."_

He could hear Aramis laughing his head off somewhere but he didn't doubt for an instant that the man still had them covered. And then Athos didn't have time to care anymore as he fell onto a guard in front of him, knocking his gun away and driving a fist so hard into his face that he felt his nose break. The man hit the ground so quickly that Athos didn't even have to stop running.

Somewhere off to his left he saw a guard drop the ground with a spray of blood, though he was too far away to hear the rifle shot. Thanks to the absolute calamity about them, they were able to get to the convoy without encountering that many men. Between them they were easily able to secure the main jeep and slip inside, Porthos quickly getting to work hot wiring it – he thanked the stars for Porthos' criminal past – as Athos kept watch.

Dagarov was only a few steps away, being hurriedly pulled towards the vehicle by his body guards. Athos waited until the last moment before springing out the door, jabbing his fist into the throat of one, kneeing a second in the groin and then grabbing Dagarov. A third guard took one of Aramis' rounds to the head when he moved to pull a gun and Athos was able to scramble back into the jeep, pushing his charge in front of him, before anyone else had time to react. As soon as they were in, Porthos was driving, getting them out of there as fast as he could go.

"Package is secure," Athos told the others. "Regroup at site C."

"_On my way," _Aramis reported dutifully.

There was a long moment as they all waited for d'Artagnan to respond, but there was nothing. "d'Art?" Athos refused to let the worry coiling in his gut take over. Dagarov was screaming at them in Russian but Athos slapped some cuffs on him and forced him into his seat.

"_I'm not far from his position," _Aramis said. _"I can try to get to him."_

"Can you see the building he's in?"

"_Negative. The angle's wrong. If I get onto the next roof, I might be able to get a better look."_

"Go." Athos looked over at Porthos who was concentrating fiercely on the road, his hands white where they gripped the steering wheel.

After a moment Aramis spoke again. _"I can see where he was. His laptop's gone but some of his other stuff is still there, as though he left in a hurry."_

Before anyone could formulate a response to that, there was a burst of static over the line and then d'Artagnan was back, talking so quickly it was hard to understand him. _"Hi, sorry about that, still here. Some of the guards must have worked out that the message I sent them was a ruse and must have tracked the signal back to me, it was stupid, I should have bounced the IP but there wasn't time and-"_

"d'Art, shut up," Athos ordered. "What happened?"

"_They found me. I only had a few seconds warning so I ran upstairs. I thought that if they saw the desk was empty, they'd just leave but they're looking for me. I couldn't talk before because they were too close."_

"Can you get out of there?"

"_They left men by the door. I could try and rush them but there's not really any cover worth a damn."_

"Don't. Can you get to the roof?"

"_That's what I'm trying to do now." _

"Aramis is across the street. Get yourselves together and get the hell out of there. If you can get up the main street we can pick you up," he said, nudging at Porthos' shoulder and indicating he make the next turn. For several tense minutes they drove in silence, then d'Art started cursing violently.

"_Yeah, the roof's not going to be an option."_

"_I can take out the ones I can see d'Art," _Aramis offered, _"but there's too much cover on the roof for me to get them all."_

"_Don't bother, there's more inside. I'll never get through them all."_

"So now what?" Porthos was vibrating with tension and Athos could feel his own heart rate skyrocketing unpleasantly. From Dagarov's smile, Athos could almost believe he knew what was going on.

"_Can't go up, can't go down. Any of you know how high you can fall without dying?"_

"You're not serious?"

"_You have a better plan?" _d'Artagnan snapped, sounding far more stressed than his usual carefree demeanour ever was. _"Fourth floor isn't so bad right?"_

"You'll kill yourself!"

"_They'll kill me if I don't move."_

"_Land on your side," _Aramis told him, cutting off Athos' next words. _"I've jumped from a few roof tops in my time. You land on your back or your head and your spine will snap like a twig. Land on your front and your ribs will shred your lungs. Word of warning, your arm is almost certainly going to end up broken."_

"_Well, doesn't that sound- Oh, shit!" _d'Artagnan cut off abruptly and there was another rush of static as a loud noise – Athos vaguely recognised the sound of breaking glass – swept through the comms.

"d'Art?" Porthos demanded a moment later, taking a turn too sharply and sending Athos and Dagarov tumbling sideways. In the whirl of movement, Athos caught sight of two army jeeps hot on their heels.

"Porthos, faster," he muttered quietly.

"_d'Art, get the hell up," _Aramis snapped suddenly. _"The ones on the ground are heading your way."_

d'Artagnan groaned, long and loud, in response to that and it was the greatest thing Athos had ever heard. "Come on kid, we're almost there."

"_Remind me not to do that again. Who thought jumping out a window was a good idea?"_

"_That would be you kid."_

"_Past me was a fucking moron."_

"_Current you is a fucking moron, I'm sure. Turn left, I'm heading down the fire escape above you."_

"Start heading North. We'll pick you up but we have to move quickly, okay?"

"_Copy that."_

Athos reached out and took Porthos' gun, before rolling the window down and siding so that he was sitting on the door with clear sight lines on the jeeps following him. He was nowhere near as good a shot as Aramis, especially from a moving stand at moving targets but that didn't mean he wasn't damn good. The windshields were bulletproof but the tyres were woefully unprotected. He was able to take out one of the jeeps with just three bullets.

Unfortunately that was when the second jeep caught on to what he was doing and a man with an assault rifle popped out the side to return fire. Athos caught a bullet in the arm and ducked back inside his own jeep hurriedly.

"You hit?" Porthos grunted.

"A graze. I'm fine."

He didn't look convinced but he let it go. "Aramis, we're a street away, where are you?"

"_We'll be there, just hurry. We've got men just behind us."_

"What a coincidence, so do we." Athos took a deep breath and fired out the window again, getting off two shots before he was forced to duck back inside. He couldn't risk blind-firing with the number of civilians on the streets.

Dagarov seemed to be growing more restless again, muttering in agitated Russian before he said, in very scratchy English, "You American?"

Athos laughed just a little and shook his head. "French. Or at least, working for the French," he replied in his own, spotless English. "Fabius and the people at the Quai d'Orsay would like a word."

The information seemed to stun Dagarov back into stillness. Porthos stirred unhappily beside him. "We're almost there. Get ready."

"_Porthos, we're here," _Aramis told them at almost the same moment.

"Let's do this then." Porthos slammed hard on the breaks, bringing them to a skidding halt directly in front of their teammates. Aramis was supporting a pale d'Artagnan but they rushed towards them without too much trouble. The jeep that had been behind them raced past, going too fast to react quickly enough to brake when they had, but able to release a burst of gunfire along their flank. Athos barely got the bulletproof window back up in time.

As soon as Aramis had bundled d'Artagnan into the back and scrambled in himself, Porthos hit the gas again, spinning the wheel to send them swerving back the way they'd come. Further down the road, the other jeep was doing the same.

"All in one piece?" Aramis asked brightly, apparently undeterred by the fact he was almost in the lap of a man who had been responsible for several brutal massacres.

d'Artagnan swore at him unhappily and Porthos laughed. Athos felt good humour glow in his stomach for the briefest of moments before Porthos obliterated it. "Athos is hit."

He glared at him, his eyebrows screaming 'traitor' with as much venom as he could muster until Aramis climbed over, _into his lap, _to take a look at him. Despite his natural desire for space, Athos had never quite managed to dissuade Aramis from his tactile disposition and by now he was used to the frequent invasions.

"Show me."

"We have bigger problems right now."

"_Athos._"

Sighing in defeat, Athos presented his arm for inspection. It honestly wasn't a problem, the bullet had only skimmed him and there was barely any blood. Aramis probed at the graze for a moment then sat back, relieved. "It's a scratch. This is what you were moaning about?"

Unwilling to dignify that with an answer, Athos tilted his hips and deposited Aramis heavily into the foot well in front of him. Unbothered, Aramis just scrambled back over to d'Art, shoving his ass into Athos' face in retribution as he went.

d'Art's face was drawn tight with pain, tan skin pale as he gripped helplessly at his left arm. At least he'd had the sense to land on his less dominant side. "How're you doing, kid?" Aramis very gently pulled the injured limb away from his chest to assess the damage, wincing in sympathy as he felt the give in the ruined bone.

"Athos?"

"Yes d'Artagnan?"

"Don't ever let me just out of a fourth floor window again please."

"I'm not entirely sure I 'let' you do it this time. But if it will make you feel better, I promise that I will stop you from throwing yourself out of buildings whenever I am able."

"Thanks. Aramis?"

"Yes?" He was busying himself by making a sling out of the sash he kept tied around his waist and didn't look up.

"Once my arm's in a cast and I've had some morphine, I'm going to punch you."

"Oh. Might I ask why?"

"You thought it would be a good idea for me to jump out a fucking window."

"_You _thought it would be a good idea. I merely offered sufficient advice to stop you from killing yourself in the process."

"I'm still going to punch you."

"Alright."

Athos found himself ridiculously glad that Dagarov didn't seem speak any French. His team would always get the mission done, _always, _but they didn't necessarily ever look like they knew what they were doing. Treville indulged them a little but even he would have been embarrassed by this exchange in front of an international criminal.

"If we could focus gentlemen."

"Don't lump me with them," Porthos replied mildly. "I'm doing my goddamn job." The words were only just out of his mouth when the jeep shuddered around them and they all jerked violently forwards. It would seem that their pursuers had caught up with them. "Son of a bitch."

The little colour that had lingered in d'Art's face had drained away and he blinked owlishly at Athos for a moment. "I think," he slurred eventually, "That I'm going to pass out now." He slumped forwards bonelessly.

Aramis cursed a little in Spanish as he caught him, leaning him back in the seat and snapping the seatbelt closed over him, keeping him pinned to the seat.

"How's his arm?" Athos asked, studying d'Artagnan's lax features.

"Very, very broken. I think he busted up some ribs too. I'm impressed he's stayed conscious this whole time."

The jeep behind them rammed them again and Aramis swore colourfully, relieving d'Art of his hand gun and rolling down his own window to fire of a few shots at the windshield to try and distract the driver. The jeep swerved a little but kept on relentlessly, the assault rifle spitting at them and forcing Aramis back into cover.

Athos turned to Porthos. "Get us out of the city and head west. Once we're across the border in Belarus, we can head to a safe house and contact evac."

"You'll never get away with this," Dagarov informed them in English. "I will see you executed for this."

For a moment Athos was vaguely glad that Porthos didn't speak any English because he knew that his friend would never stand threats to his team without responding. The pleasure lasted all of about ten seconds before Aramis leaned across d'Artagnan and punched Dagarov square in the face and knocking him out cold.

"Why did you not do that sooner?"

Athos shrugged, not willing to get upset over scum like that. "Something about punching unarmed men seemed a little… brutal."

"He's not a man. He's a monster."

"What did he say?" Porthos asked, irritated to be left out.

"Idle threats of a man who's going to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Don't worry about it," Athos reassured.

Aramis poked himself out of his window again and fired once, hitting the other gunman square in the face. He fell from the jeep awkwardly, twisting as his legs caught on something until he was dragged under the back wheel. Athos tried to pretend he didn't hear the sickening crunch. The sudden bump at the speeds they were going was too much for the driver to control and the vehicle wrenched itself out of his control and swerving sideways wildly, careening into the side of a building and stilling.

Feeling slightly safer, Athos settled himself down in his seat, slipping his seatbelt on for the first time. Behind them, Aramis was muttering a Spanish prayer, just as he always did after taking lives but Athos and Porthos didn't comment. They left Aramis to his faith, and he never tried to force his views on them.

"This could have gone better."

"I don't know," Porthos comforted. "We've had worse."

"That is true. d'Artagnan hasn't."

"He was going to get badly injured sometime. At least this is something that we can fix."

"Stop talking about me," d'Artagnan muttered sullenly, his thick voice indicating that he hadn't fully woken up yet. Porthos laughed and Athos allowed himself a smile. It could always have gone worse.

* * *

><p>"d'Artagnan's going to be out of action for <em>how long?<em>" Treville snapped, his voice climbing dangerously high as he stared down his three best men. "What the hell did you do to him?"

"Technically he did it to himself Sir-" Aramis started but Porthos stamped on his foot to shut him up.

"It was the only way out of a hopeless situation Sir," Athos supplied instead. "He was about to be overrun."

Treville still looked irritated but he let it slide, looking instead at the case file on the desk in front of him. "Well, I would have been happier if you'd gotten Dagarov without a HSC through the streets but I suppose you did what you could in the circumstances. We've looked through the files to see who might have given away your presence but everyone with authorised access checks out. Someone must have hacked the system."

"There's not a trace anywhere?" Athos knew that corrupt systems were all over the world but he couldn't believe that he worked for one. The Musketeers were the best of the best, and he couldn't think about them betraying them like this.

"Our technicians are working on it, but so far there's nothing."

"d'Artagnan will be out of hospital in two days. Give him a laptop and ten minutes and I guarantee he'll get you a lead," Athos told him.

Treville raised an eyebrow. "You want me to grant a civilian full access to classified files?"

"I think civilian isn't quite the term. d'Art's been driving to get a commission here for months. Let him prove himself. I'm telling you, there's no one better with a keyboard in front of them."

Porthos and Aramis both spoke up as well, voicing their support of their friend. They weren't just trying to help the kid because they liked him, he truly would make an amazing Musketeer one day if only Treville would give him the chance.

"Alright," the Captain agreed eventually. "But I want you there with him at all times. I'm not giving him access and then just letting him run wild through our system."

Athos thanked him and rose, shuffling away awkwardly. He'd never quite known how to act around the Captain and even after years of service and being able to call him a friend, it was still hard to find his footing. It was due in no small part to the fact that Treville was, in fact, a General and the ex-soldier in Athos trembled at such authority. He still had no idea why he preferred 'Captain' as his title.

When they told d'Artagnan of the news, he'd beamed at them – looking for all the world like a puppy with a treat – and thanked them profusely for their support of him.

"It's not like we said anything that isn't true. You're a menace with that laptop of yours."

d'Artagnan glanced away for a second, his joy flickering at the inadvertent reminder. His own laptop, the one he'd looked after like it was sacred since they'd first met him, hadn't quite survived the jump out the window. He had every intention of trying to fix it as soon as he had both hands available, but for now at least, it wasn't of any use. None of them had had the heart to ask him why this specific laptop was so important – they had a feeling it was something to do with his father, who still went almost utterly unmentioned.

"Well, we all have our talents. Mine is being a nosy little shit," he said after a moment, the smile returning only slightly strained.

"You still haven't told me how you found us. I can't understand how you went from one word to finding three covert agents in nine days. We're supposed to be _hard to find," _Aramis griped. He was still just a little bitter about that bomb.

"Well, I didn't know that," d'Artagnan mocked gently, smiling. "And you really need to let that go."

"You tried to blow us up!"

"I didn't though, did I? And besides, I didn't even know who you were. I think you're just annoyed I got the jump on you."

"Actually I think he's just annoyed that you got to the sofa before he did," Porthos pointed out. "He really wanted a nap."

"I was tired, okay? So were you as I seem to recall."

"I'd had two weeks of you jabbering on at a hundred miles an hour in Spanish, of course I was fucking tired."

Aramis did his best to look offended, tackling Porthos playfully and jabbing at his kidneys before the other man could twist away. Athos and d'Artagnan shared a look that clearly said _'children.' _Eventually, Athos had to pull Aramis off Porthos before the larger man folded him in half and put him down carefully into one of the chairs at d'Art's bedside. "Stay."

"Bossy."

Athos sighed, looking so world weary that d'Artagnan laughed out loud, wincing a little as pain sprung up all down his side. Athos caught the flinch with a frown.

"Are you in pain?"

"Only when I breathe," d'Artagnan admitted easily. "It's not so bad."

Aramis snorted disbelievingly. "What was the final count? A broken arm, some ribs…?"

"Ulna and radius, humerus, collarbone, four ribs broken, two cracked and a few hairline fractures on my pelvis. It _could _be worse."

"You're a fucking idiot," Porthos admonished.

"At least I didn't get shot," d'Art replied with a lopsided shrug. "It's not like I haven't broken bones before."

"You've never broken anything with us," Athos pointed out, still looking a little tense from realising how badly d'Art had managed to hurt himself. "It's different."

"I swear to god, if you start blaming yourself for my stupidity, I'm going to be punching you straight after Aramis. This is entirely on me. And Dagarov, but I figure he'll get what's coming to him without any help from me."

"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that punching thing," Aramis muttered sullenly, eying him from just out of arm's reach. "It really wasn't my fault."

"No, but you usually deserve a punch for something or other," Porthos reminded him, smiling beatifically. Aramis hissed at him, clutching his chest as though wounded.

"Who did I piss off in a past life to end up with you three?" Athos muttered to himself, his lips twitching when d'Art snorted. The kid would be alright, eventually and that was what mattered; he didn't blame Athos for getting hurt and he didn't seem to regret his actions. They'd be alright.

The next hour or so was spent lounging about in d'Art's private room – being a Musketeer's apprentice had some perks at least – while Aramis flirted with every nurse that came within a ten foot radius and Athos started questioning his life's choices. To Aramis' eternal amusement, d'Art was hopelessly awkward with any member of the opposite gender except for Constance, a member of Sierra team he'd been sweet on since the moment they met. Any time a female nurse or doctor spoke to him directly, he'd blush adorably and mutter the answer towards his own feet. Even Athos had to admit the effect was charming.

After the third time this happened, Aramis was a quivering, giggling lump curled up on his chair, burying his tear-streaked face in his knees and d'Art was looking about himself for ammunition. He'd already thrown the pen and paper on his bedside table and seemed to be genuinely considering the glass of water too.

"Ignore him," Athos instructed him, hoping that he wouldn't be left explaining to the hospital why their room had transformed into a battleground. "He's being an idiot." He swotted half-heartedly at Aramis' curls.

d'Artagnan continued to glare but stopped eyeing the glass thoughtfully, so Athos considered it a victory. Very quietly, he muttered, "Should have blown you up when I had the chance."

Aramis – ever able to hear things that he shouldn't – looked up with fake heartbreak on his face, laughter dying instantly. "How can you say such hurtful things?" He gave d'Art a moment to snicker and then leapt at him, launching himself onto the narrow hospital bed and somehow miraculously not knocking into d'Artagnan's numerous injuries. The younger man squeaked in surprise, trying to squirm out from beneath his friend but he couldn't shift the weight. Defeated, he groaned.

"Athos, please get him off me," he said after it became clear Aramis had no intention of relenting.

"You _did _provoke him. And regret not blowing up my house," Athos reasoned, a smile curving his lips. "Besides, he looks really quite comfortable." To prove the point, Aramis started pretending to snore, obnoxiously loud in d'Art's ear.

"If I apologise for that, will you get off me?" Not breaking the mime of being asleep, Aramis nodded slowly. "In which case, I most sincerely apologise for ever thinking of killing you three fine gentlemen. I assure you, such a thing will not happen again." There was a long, pointed silence in which Aramis didn't move a muscle and d'Artagnan glared at the ceiling, trying once more to shove the weight off him. "Dude," he whined after a moment, "get _off _me."

"You didn't sound sincere," Aramis muttered very quietly, then started snoring again.

d'Artagnan just sighed and looked pleadingly at Athos. When that got him nowhere, he turned his puppy eyes on Porthos, who had a history of being unable to resist his wide, honest stare. The big man shifted uneasily under his gaze. "He's doing that thing," he moaned to the others. "You know I hate the thing."

"Be strong Porthos," Aramis told him. He'd had to lift himself slightly to speak and d'Artagnan finally managed to weasel around enough to get his unbroken arm up so that he could elbow him in the ribs. Aramis hissed a little and shifted away, collapsing into the minute space between d'Artagnan and the edge of the bed. "That was mean. Your elbows are sharp."

"And you're heavy. I do quite like breathing thank you very much."

They went back and forth for a few more minutes, Porthos joining in easily. Athos leant back in his chair, one eye on the door – a habit from so many years in the service – and the other on his friends. He'd fought for every inch of this and the reward had been this small, loyal family; he wouldn't change anything about it.

* * *

><p><em>d'Art says 'Of course, don't you?' in Russian (I used google translate, sue me, I don't speak Russian. Correct me if I'm wrong).<em>

_The Quai d'Orsay is the home of the French equivalent of the foreign office. Laurent Fabius is currently its minister. _

_Also, HSC refers to high speed chase, not health and social care. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all so much! You've all been so lovely about this story. _

_Quick note to say that I'm accepting any requests you guys can throw at me for this story. Each chapter is going to be a self-contained story so I can fit pretty much anything into it._

* * *

><p>They knew from the outset that the mission would be stressful - more so than usual, anyway - but when Treville called, they answered.<p>

In truth, it was simple: infiltrate the heavily fortified house of an Arabic diplomat, copy any data he might have on the French government and then escape without giving away their identities. As with most things, if it went south, France and the Musketeers would have to deny any affiliation with them to avoid starting a war. They knew and accepted these as consequences for the type of work that they did but that didn't stop Aramis from griping about how he was risking his life for a country he didn't even come from and who would disown him at a moment's notice.

"I'm really hoping you have a plan," Porthos informed Athos as they gathered around the conference table with blueprints and files scattered around them. "'Cause I can't find shit."

Aramis was scowling at d'Artagnan. "Can't you just hack your way in? That's what you always do."

A little offended by the accusation there, d'Artagnan sniffed haughtily at him and frowned. "Isolated hard drive. They're not complete morons, like someone else I could care to mention."

Athos saw this spiralling out of his control and sighed to himself quietly. d'Artagnan and Aramis had been at each other's throats for the last couple of days with increasing intensity - it had something to do with d'Artagnan accidentally stumbling onto information about Aramis' family, but neither had been inclined to explain exactly what had happened to Athos or Porthos. It was becoming more than a little disruptive. "Grow up, the pair of you," he ordered, short-tempered. "I don't give a damn what's going on between you, and I need you both to focus on the problem at hand. d'Artagnan, is there any way you can get into their system from the outside?"

He took a deep breath, drawing away from his anger and nodded slowly. "Yes, but it would require someone planting a bug. Either way, one of us is going to have to physically get inside."

"Time frame on inserting a bug?"

"Two minutes tops. Plug it in, give it a moment to get into the system to copy everything and then remove it again. No evidence left behind."

"How long will you need to programme it?"

"If I start now I can have something for you by tomorrow night at a guess."

Athos nodded, silently thanking the stars that d'Artagnan had found them. He hated having to deal with the Musketeer technicians - they were all forever enjoying the fact that Athos knew next to nothing about electronics. "Do it. Ask Treville for any resources you need."

d'Artagnan nodded and left, without so much as glancing in Aramis' direction. Porthos eyed their sniper speculatively. "Care to tell us why you're being so down on him?"

Aramis bared his teeth in an unusual display of anger. "No."

"If this is going to affect your performance-" Athos started, then cut himself off when Aramis threw him a look of venomous betrayal.

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Now, do we have a plan or not?"

Deciding it was better to leave well enough alone, Athos let it drop. "According to the blueprints, there's a server room in the basement. One of us needs to get in there to plant the bug. The problem is that to get to the server room, you have to get past a ten foot, double skin, electrified fence, regular armed patrols, no less than five locked doors - two mechanical and three electronic - and we have to do all of this without being seen. The plot has been granted embassy status, so setting foot there without permission is classified as an act of war."

"And they're not about to give us permission, right?" Aramis smiled, his usual excitement bubbling out over the anger still lining his face. "Sounds like fun."

"You're screwed in the head," Porthos muttered with a fond roll of his eyes.

The next two hours were spent pouring over blueprints, occasionally offering suggestions to each other but generally thinking in silence. By the time the clock hit three o'clock, Athos was close to tearing his hair out. "I need coffee for this shit," he announced suddenly into the quiet. "Anyone want anything?"

Porthos requested his usual black, no sugar, and Aramis _his _usual two sugars and more cream than could possibly be healthy. Athos left shaking his head fondly.

The door to the room besides theirs was open, and he poked his head in to see d'Artagnan typing sullenly at his laptop, his face pulled into unusual lines of distress. "d'Art?"

The kid startled momentarily, apparently unaware that he was no longer alone, but he recovered quickly, offering a bright smile that might have looked genuine to anyone else. As it was, Athos could see the cracks around the edges, and each one cut at him. "Athos. Did you need something?"

Athos made a quick decision, glancing back at the closed door he had just come through and estimating how soundproof it might be. With a sigh, he slipped into the room completely and pulled the door closed behind him just in case.

"Athos?" d'Artagnan sounded a little concerned, picking up on the uncertainty in his leader's shoulders. "What's going on?"

"That was my first question, actually. Care to tell me why you and Aramis have spontaneously developed allergies to each other's presence?"

He could almost see the shutters slam closed behind d'Art's eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

It was a great feat of willpower that Athos contained the growl at the back of his throat. "You're really going to flat out lie to me?"

"If you ask questions I don't want to answer." d'Artagnan started typing again, apparently deciding that the conversation was over. Athos wasn't about to let it go.

"Whatever's going on between you two, it's not going to get better if you just avoid each other. Despite what Treville might say, you are actually both fully functioning adults. Sit down with him and _talk _about it."

"You don't think I've _tried?_" d'Artagnan snapped, then bit his lip when he realised what he'd said. There was silence for a long moment before d'Art decided that the damage was already done. "I tried to apologise and he didn't want to hear it. I'm not the one you need to be convincing."

"What happened between the two of you? Aramis isn't one to hold a grudge."

"And yet, here we are. Ask him if you want to know, I think I've pissed him off quite enough already."

"d'Art-" Athos started, but he didn't know how to finish the sentence. It wouldn't mean anything to the kid if Athos told him everything would be alright - he needed to hear this from Aramis himself. "Never mind," he finished lamely, slipped out of the room before d'Artagnan could reply.

There weren't many things in life that Athos truly hated, but watching his friends and brothers suffering was top of the list. Especially when it was over something so completely trivial. Cursing quietly to himself, he started thinking up ways to convince Aramis to open up to them so they could start to actually fix this.

* * *

><p>"So what you're saying is that you have no plan whatsoever?" d'Artagnan's eyes were darting around the three of them in irritated confusion, the machine he'd spent almost two days working on clutched tightly in one hand. The plastic was starting to creak alarmingly under the force of his grip.<p>

"The place is heavily defended," Athos argued, though he couldn't summon any anger at the accusation in d'Art's tone. The kid had been working through most of the night to finish programming the bug only to be told that the rest of the team were dead in the water when it came to finding an entry point. Combined with the ominous presence of a glaring Aramis, Athos was impressed that d'Art was as calm as he was.

"That's never once stopped you."

"I don't see you coming up with anything," Aramis griped, quietly enough that he thought d'Artagnan wouldn't hear him - going by the angry flush darkening his tanned skin, he'd been wrong.

Athos stepped in before whatever vitriol was pooling in d'Art's stomach could make an appearance. "Aramis, that's not helpful, and you know it. d'Artagnan, do you think there's anything you can find to give us an entrance?"

He took a minute to calm himself, sucking in a hard breath and determinedly not looking at Aramis, before he shrugged a little. "I've already given you the floor plans. There's not much else I can do. If you get hold of one of their key cards I could try to replicate it for you but if they're smart, they'll change their codes too often for it to work. This isn't something I can hack into."

Porthos cursed, the frustration of the last two days welling up. "There's got to be something."

"Maybe breaking in isn't the way," Aramis murmured after a moment, eyes far away. "What if we could gain entrance for legitimate reasons?"

"Like a warrant? You know that Treville could never swing that," Porthos pointed out.  
>"Not a warrant," Aramis replied, "More like an invitation."<p>

Athos chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking hard. "It's a diplomatic building, yes? There must be people coming and going all the time for meetings and-"

"Press conferences," d'Artagnan cut in, grabbing the thought and running with it. "The blueprints showed that there's a hall for giving talks in on the ground floor - not too far from the stairs to the server room."

"There'd be no way to keep track of all the journalists for ever conference - if we had fake IDs, we'd get invitations no problem," Porthos concluded with a wide grin, ruffling d'Artagnan's hair fondly. "Why didn't we think of that before?"

"Because you were all too busy trying to be criminals?"

Athos cuffed him around the head gently, letting his lips tug up into a quiet smile. "Do you think you can manage a bit of forgery?"

* * *

><p>In the end, it took them two weeks to get their opening. Aramis was unsettled about the whole thing, much preferring a mission that allowed him to be on a rooftop with his rifle in his hands than on the ground, unarmed. Athos was the only one carrying a gun - trying to minimise the chance of them being discovered - since he would be the one making the trip to the basement.<p>

d'Artagnan was safely ensconced in a van two streets away, and hating every moment. Here was where he was good, where he was helpful, and yet, sending his friends into the path of danger with nothing but earpieces and fake IDs just seemed to be asking for trouble. His heart was racing too high in his throat and his stomach churned unhappily as he opened up the video feeds.

The three of them had been given glasses with hidden cameras so that d'Artagnan could keep track of them without alerting security by trying to hijack their CCTV, and through the various feeds he could see his team members taking their places.

They got through security without trouble - the carbon fibre gun tucked close to Athos' ribs going unnoticed under his bulky leather jacket. Porthos was asked a series of security questions when his ID raised some flags but he gave perfect answers from the covers d'Artagnan had made them all memorise and he was allowed through without delay. It was only once the three of them were seating themselves in the conference hall that d'Artagnan allowed himself to breathe out.

"Here's where the fun starts," he muttered to himself, hearing Porthos' laugh-turned-cough on the other end as his voice was transmitted.

Through three sets of eyes, d'Artagnan was able to watch as the speaker - a short, nervous man who was shaking so badly his cue cards must have looked blurry - got up to start the introductions. They waited until he was rounding off, gesturing for the first of the diplomats to come to the podium, before Athos started preparing himself.

There was a toilet between the hall and the staircase, though any journalist wishing to use it had to be accompanied by one of the hulking security guards at all times.

"I think the coast is clear Athos," d'Artagnan told him, wishing he could be more certain. All staff in the building were under an obligation to carry radios at all times, and each radio had a tracer in it - apparently you weren't trusted to stay in your boundary even if you worked there. With a little bit of clever programming, d'Artagnan had managed to piggy-back their system but he wasn't entirely sure if he had complete coverage or not. Trying to find out would only mean digging deeper into the system and the last thing he wanted to do was alert anyone to his intentions.

Unable to verbally respond without giving himself away, Athos rose from his seat and headed towards the back of the room, nodding politely at the guard that stepped forwards to accompany him. It wasn't until they were nearing the toilets that Athos made his move, swinging around so quickly that the camera feed blurred. The guard dropped without a sound.

"Nice job," d'Artagnan told him, hearing Porthos' and Aramis' twin sighs of relief. "You've got to move quickly now."

"I do remember the plan, thank you very much," Athos hissed at him, trying to gather the unconscious body in his arms. "He's heavier than he looks."

It took longer than d'Art might have hoped for Athos to hide the body in the toilet and locking the door, making sure to take his keys and radio before he did so. "You've got to speed it up Athos. They'll notice you're gone soon."

Their leader didn't dignify that with a response. d'Art could see him hurrying down corridors he'd memorised without hesitation, only slowing down when the stairs were in front of him, leading down into the gloom. "Do you know if anyone's down there?"

"There's no radio signals, I don't think, but it's underground. There might be too much interference. Proceed with caution?"

Athos huffed a little. "Remind me to ask Treville for a raise. I'm not getting paid enough for this."

d'Artagnan would have laughed if he wasn't pumping with nerves, pulse thrumming under his skin as his friend walked blindly into possible danger. It wasn't until his vision started thinning that he realised he was holding his breath.

Thirty seconds later and a _"Looks all clear,"_ had him relaxing again. "Plug it in, like I showed you." Through the cameras he saw a little red light appear on the side of the device, blinking happily. "Okay, wait until it's green then get the hell out of there."

"You have told me this already d'Art," Athos reminded him fondly. With familiar movements he drew his gun and checked the clip, making sure he was ready should someone find him here.

"Well I know how you are with machinery sometimes," he shot back without pause, then turned to a different monitor. "Okay, Porthos, your turn."

The perspective of the video changed, looking away from the diplomats still droning on and towards Porthos' lap where he was fiddling with his microphone. It was the home stretch now - Porthos needed to set off the alarms with the transmitter hidden in his mike and Athos would rejoin them as the journalists were herded from the building. In the confusion, the three of them could slip away unnoticed.

Of course, it was never going to be that simple.

An unfamiliar voice from Athos' transmitter startled d'Artagnan into spinning back towards the monitor, fear flooding him as he saw a guard pointing his gun in the direction of the camera - Athos' head.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded sharply, voice tilted with an eastern accent.

Athos had his hands up - his gun nowhere to be seen - and was doing his best to slouch where he stood, trying to look non-threatening. _"Can you help me?" _He asked in perfect Arabic - surprising his three team members thoroughly - _"I think I took a wrong turning and I ended up in here." _

The guard was reaching for his radio, clearly undecided about what to do. Athos knew he had a window of maybe twenty seconds before there was a bullet in his head. Moving quickly, he drew his gun from where he'd shoved it hastily into the waistband of his trousers and shot, wincing at the explosion of noise. What happened next was a little too fast for him to follow.

Blood spurted from the guard's chest and he froze in blank surprise before his body toppled, finger squeezing down on the trigger as nerves fired in a last ditch attempt at life. Something hard and unforgiving slammed into Athos' unprotected stomach and he jolted backwards with a cry, falling when his feet seemed too heavy for him to move. Someone was shouting, he noted absently, and it took him some time to realise that he could only hear it in one ear - his earpiece.

"_Athos!_"

Porthos had his finger on the button to start the alarm, meeting Aramis' eyes across the room, worry pouring out of his skin but unable to speak.

"Athos talk to me, please, _Athos!_"

"Wha-" he tried, gasping a little when his chest refused to expand properly. It felt like something was sitting on his rib cage, crushing the life out of him. _Injured, _his brain supplied calmly, _you're injured. _In the corner of his vision, a little green light flickered cheerfully at him. The light was important somehow, but he couldn't have explained why.

"Oh thank god," the voice breathed, and Athos' blurry thoughts finally recognised d'Artagnan. "Porthos, Aramis, you've got to get to him."

"_How?_" Aramis hissed, pretending to blow his nose to cover the word. Porthos looked like he was about to shake to pieces with the tension, finger rubbing at the button but unwilling to depress it until he was certain it was the right thing to do.

"I don't know!" d'Artagnan cried back, clearly panicking. "There's too many people between you and him - I think he's _dying!_"

That sounded terribly concerning, Athos had to admit, but he was too tired to formulate much emotion. His side felt too warm when the rest of his body was cold, and his thoughts had turned muggy and indistinct. All he knew was that he needed to get out of there and he needed help to do it.

"I can clear a path," d'Artagnan announced suddenly, his voice different, determined. He sounded like he'd come to a decision but something about it screamed at Athos as _bad, _if only he could find the words to say so. "I'll draw as many of the guards away as I can - just be ready to get him out of there. I won't be able to contact you again."

Porthos wanted so desperately to protest, because he knew that whatever was going on in the kid's head couldn't be good. There was a resignation in his tone that he'd only ever heard from dying men and the thought chilled him to the bone. Don't let him lose two brothers today, he pleaded. No god could be that cruel.

In his van, cut off from his brothers, d'Artagnan's heart was hurting with the speed of its racing. He would not sit and watch as his leader, mentor, _brother _died a lonely death. There wasn't the strength in his bones to do that. With steel-willed determination, he threw himself into the driving seat and prayed to whoever - _whatever _- was listening that he didn't die with Aramis still angry with him.

* * *

><p>Porthos and Aramis knew exactly when it was time to go - every guard in the room suddenly straightened and headed for the door, except for one who was settled by the podium, ready to protect the diplomats against any potential threat.<p>

They locked eyes and as one made for the door, slipping out so quickly that the remaining guard could do nothing to stop them. Uncaring for who saw them now, they raced side by side down the empty, white corridors, aching with terror. They couldn't lose Athos. They needed him.

Their leader was lying unconscious in a puddle of his own blood, skin waxy pale and fake glasses falling off his face. Porthos froze at the sight but Aramis barrelled ahead, already mentally running over everything he'd ever learned about bullet wounds and blood loss.

"Porthos, take the bug," he ordered eventually, when the big man just continued to stand there. "We didn't come all this way for nothing." He was tugging aside Athos' clothes in a desperate attempt to get to the wound, but his hands were already slick with blood and it was only sheer willpower stopping him trembling.

"We have to get him out of here Aramis," Porthos reminded him as he tugged the flashing hard drive out of the port. He shoved it into his coat pocket, making sure that it wouldn't fall out and then knelt beside his team mate.

"If we move him he could bleed out."

"If we don't move him, he'll spend what's left of his life in jail."

"Porthos," Aramis said, his voice uncharacteristically small, "I don't know what to do."

He looked tired and afraid, curling in on himself in a way that Porthos had never seen in all the years he'd known him. So Porthos did what he did best, and prioritised. "Take this," he said, handing over his outer shirt. "Bind that wound as best you can. I can carry him out of here if you cover us." Aramis was the better shot anyway - it made sense for him to have the gun. The sniper turned to do as he was bid, and Porthos left him for a moment to take the gun of the guard, sparing a moment to look at the face of the dead man. He looked surprised and innocent - someone caught up in something he didn't want to be a part of.

"Okay, that's the best I can do," Aramis announced, snatching up Athos' fallen gun. He rose on shaky legs. "Let's make this quick."

They adopted a shoot-first policy - it might make them sick to their cores to kill men unnecessarily but when Athos was bleeding to death in Porthos' arms, it seemed there was a lot that they could stomach. Thankfully, they only encountered two men before they were pounding towards the exit - a fire escape that let out close to a gate in the fences. Another three men there - one of whom managed to clip Porthos' arm with a lucky shot before Aramis could bring him down - and they were on the street again, racing towards the last place they'd seen the van.

There was nothing there. Whatever d'Artagnan had done, he'd had to move on - leaving them without a vehicle and with the sounds of pursuit not far behind. Cursing vividly in Spanish, Aramis swung towards the nearest parked car and thrust his elbow through the driver side window without flinching. Porthos had taught everyone on the team how to hot wire a car - he'd not been proud of the skill but it had gotten them out of some shitty situations and they were all grateful - so the larger man was able to spend the time settling Athos on the back seat while Aramis got the engine running.

It was a relief when they were moving, knowing that they were getting closer to medical help with every second. Porthos pulled out his phone and hit speed dial and then speaker, praying that Treville would pick up, while Aramis set about trying to break every speed limit he could find.

"_What the hell is going on gentlemen?" _Treville sounded utterly furious. _"We're getting reports of shots fired and it's all I can do to stop the chief of police himself from marching through the doors. d'Artagnan's not answering his radio."_

Aramis shot Porthos an uneasy look before his eyes darted back to the road. If d'Art wasn't picking up, it was because he _couldn't _and it didn't matter how mad Aramis was, he still cared about the kid. They were _brothers_.

"No word on d'Artagnan. Athos is hit, lost a lot of blood. We're getting him to the hospital now."

"Porthos is hurt too," Aramis informed like the traitor he was.

"It's nothing," he reassured instantly.

There was a telling silence on the other end that spoke of disbelief but Treville didn't comment. _"Will Athos make it?"_

"Yes," they said in unison. There was no other option.

"_Did you get the intel?"_

"Yes."

"_Can they trace you?"_

"Well, Athos was bleeding all over their floor for a while. d'Art's program should have scattered their CCTV files though, so they might not have our faces," Porthos reasoned, frowning.

"_Athos' DNA work isn't subject to public knowledge. We've legal protection that should allow us to avoid a warrant to look at our files. Damn it," _Treville cursed. He sounded tired. _"Let me worry about that. Just help Athos and try to raise d'Artagnan. It's not like him to go off the grid."_

"We'll get them safe, Sir," Porthos promised. Treville was still the only human being on the planet who could claim to be given the title by him - a childhood running from all forms of authority had left Porthos with a lifelong bitterness towards his superiors, but their Captain was in a class of his own. The man commanded the respect of all his men and had earned their loyalty a hundred times over. Porthos owed him more than he could ever hope to repay, but he could start by taking care of his second-in-command.

The call ended, Porthos twisted around to check on Athos, sprawled across the middle seat inelegantly. Red was starting to dot through the makeshift bandage but it was certainly far less than before. The placement of the bullet couldn't have been more fortuitous: too low down to bother his lungs, too far to the side to hit his stomach. With medical help, it shouldn't be fatal.

Reassured, he called d'Artagnan's mobile. It kept ringing until the answer phone picked up, d'Art's jaunty voice telling him to leave a message. Frowning, Porthos tried his second mobile - the one paid for under a different name and a separate account - but got the same results. Further calls to his pre-paid phones yielded the same results, much to Porthos' growing fear.

"This isn't like him."

"Maybe he can't get to his phone right now," Aramis offered, desperately clinging to the hope that was keeping him going. "If he's driving he might not want to answer."

"We're in the middle of an op here 'Mis," Porthos pointed out unnecessarily. "If we're calling, he'd be answering. Something's wrong."

"Athos is bleeding on the back seat. There's a lot that's wrong here."

The sharp tone had Porthos turning to properly examine his friend, eyeing the tense shoulders and the way he wasn't allowing his eyes to stray from the road even for a moment. Anxiety was bleeding off him in palpable waves. "They're going to be alright," he reassured with as much conviction as he could muster. "We're always alright."

"And if we're not? What if this time, we don't come out the other side?"

Porthos flinched in surprise. Aramis never got like this, even when he was holding in a team member's organs with nothing but a torn up shirt to help stop the bleeding. The man could take anything life threw at him with a charming smile and witty comeback - he didn't have time for self-pity. "'Mis... You can't think like that. You know what we do and you know the risks. Why is it so important all of a sudden?"

For a moment it looked the sniper was going to respond but then he bit down on his lip sharply, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. We're here."

With a screech of abused tyres, they skidded to a halt in front of the ER doors, Porthos out his door before they'd even come to a halt so that he could haul Athos' limp body into his arms. Aramis raced to the door and threw himself through it, screaming bloody murder until some put-upon nurses appeared with a gurney.

In a flash, Athos was gone, whisked away through doors they weren't allowed to pass through. Whatever happened now was out of their hands.

Aramis dropped himself into a chair heavily, staring at his blood covered hands as though noticing them for the first time. There was a large part of Porthos that wanted to go to him and comfort him, but he had to focus: priorities. First on his list was d'Artagnan.

A second try didn't raise any more response than the first, the calls remaining unanswered. Cursing softly, Porthos redialled Treville.

"_Porthos?"_

"Athos is at the hospital. d'Artagnan still isn't answering his phone. Can you set someone in tech to trace his signal?"

"_I'll get our best on it. I want him found, Porthos. If they managed to catch him, there's nothing I can do to help him - you know this."_

"We all knew the risks Sir. We agreed to this."

"_And you'd be willing to stand aside if he went to trial? To prison?"_

Porthos couldn't give him the answer he wanted without lying, so he bit down on his tongue and remained silent. Of course he wouldn't watch a brother be condemned for doing his duty - he'd fight tooth and nail to get d'Art back. The Captain knew that.

"_You're a good man Porthos," _he said eventually, when it became clear no answer was forthcoming. _"Any ideas where he would go to ground? If I can give tech a vague idea then they can speed up the search."_

"Athos is hurt. He'd come here," he said without hesitation. If Athos was in danger, d'Artagnan would want to be as close as he possibly could, no matter what.

"_I'll tell them. Keep me in the loop."_

"Yes Sir."

Aramis watched as he hung up. "No word?"

"Not yet. Give him time."

"He would have called."

"Aramis-" he started, then bit his tongue. There was no point in this argument. Until d'Artagnan was back with them, there would be no convincing him that he was safe. "Try and get some rest. It's going to be a long night."

"Let me look at your arm first."

"It'll be fine. Doesn't even need stitches," he argued, but let himself be tugged down for an examination anyway. A quick once over confirmed his diagnosis however, and he got away with a nurse dabbing on some antiseptic and wrapping it. "See, all better," he said as he showed Aramis her handiwork. "Now will you get some sleep?"

"Bossy."

"I try."

* * *

><p>Porthos was woken several hours later by his phone ringing, startlingly loud in the quiet of Athos' room. His surgery hadn't been lengthy - the bullet had gone straight through and no organs had been damaged. The main problem was blood loss but even that wasn't close to life threatening. Once he'd been settled in a private room - the perks of working for the government - to sleep off his meds, Porthos and Aramis had been allowed in to see him.<p>

Beside him, Aramis jolted upright with a snort, inelegant for the first time in their acquaintance, much to Porthos' amusement. He pulled out his phone with a chuckle before diverting his attention to the caller ID flashing on the screen, then put the phone to his ear so quickly he almost hit himself with it.

"d'Art?"

"_Is Athos alive?"_ There was so much fear in his voice, Porthos could have cried. As it was, he could only gasp his relief.

"He's out of surgery. No complications, should make a full recovery. Where the _hell _have you been?"

There was quiet on the other end for a moment and Porthos could see d'Art in his mind's eye, struggling to pull himself together after the relief of hearing that Athos would be alright. It must have been weighing on his mind all this time._ "I ran into a little trouble. Which hospital are you at?"_

"Hôtel-Dieu. Are you hurt?"

"_I've been patched up. Don't worry about me. I'll come to you."_

"Patched up?" He repeated slowly. "What happened?"

"_Don't worry about me,"_ he repeated firmly.

"You make that difficult," Porthos griped. "Get here as soon as you can. Call Treville if you can."

"_Will do."_

"Is he hurt?" Aramis asked as soon as Porthos had removed the phone from his ear. In hindsight, he should have put it on speaker.

"I think so, but he seems to be mobile. Apparently he's had some medical help."

"That doesn't fill me with confidence."

"Kid'll bounce back from anything. He's tough for a scrawny mutt." To anyone else he might have sounded derogatory, but Aramis could hear the fondness there.

The fear that had been wrapped around Aramis' heart dropped away in a rush - d'Artagnan was alive, he hadn't been captured. He was coming to them. It should make Aramis feel relieved, but it wasn't relief that rushed in to fill the gap his fear left behind. All the anger he'd been cultivating for the last month welled up in his throat, choking him, and his face closed up into an angry grimace before he could stop himself.

Porthos watched him in disbelief. "So that's it? d'Art's alive so he's back on your shit list?"

"It has nothing to do with you Porthos, leave it alone."

"I'm fairly sure that d'Artagnan's well being is something to do with me and you've been crapping all over it every chance you get. Don't even pretend like you don't give a shit about him, 'Mis. You've been falling to pieces the last couple of hours. Suddenly you don't have to worry any more and all that loyalty has packed up and left."

Aramis' face flushed in sudden, vicious anger. "Do not speak to me of d'Artagnan and _loyalty."_

Porthos blinked. "Sore point?"

"Leave it _alone._"

"What the hell happened Aramis? Was d'Artagnan disloyal?"

"Yes," Aramis said waspishly, not looking at him.

"Bullshit. That kid loves us all far too much to ever do anything to betray us. You know that as well as I do."

"And yet, here we are. If you're really not going to let this drop, fine. I found d'Artagnan snooping through my files. He seemed particularly interested in any information he could gather about my family." Aramis' relatives had always been a bit of a sore point to the sniper. He had three sisters that he loved dearly, and between them four nieces and nephews who might as well have been his own children for how much he cared about them. He would bleed to keep them safe and it had taken him two years of knowing Porthos to even tell him of their existence.

It made sense, wanting to keep your family safe, Porthos supposed. Most of the Musketeers had their close ones in various witness protection schemes to keep them out of danger. It had never been much of a problem for Athos and Porthos - they had no family between them apart from the regiment. But for Aramis, this was a betrayal, no matter how he looked at it. To Porthos, it seemed to have grown wildly out of proportion.

"So you think he was trying to find out something you didn't want him to? He's curious Aramis. None of us are exactly forthcoming with information about ourselves and he already feels like an outsider. Maybe he just wanted to feel included in something."

"He needs to learn that there are boundaries. Some things aren't meant to be found."

"For the love of god Aramis," Pothos groaned, suddenly feeling caught in the middle of something he didn't want to think about. "Kid made a mistake. He tried to apologise."

"He shouldn't have been looking through my personal files!"

"He was looking through _everyone's _files, at Treville's request, if you'll recall. There's someone in the system selling us out at every opportunity and it was his job to try and find out who. You can't blame him for doing exactly what was asked of him." Pothos was starting to understand what was going on, and it was becoming clear that his had nothing to do with d'Artagnan knowing about Aramis' family. "Aramis," he said quietly, "Please tell me that this is about him knowing something you think he shouldn't and not that you feel like he didn't trust you."

Their sniper was very quiet for a long moment, glaring at the table in front of him with enough intensity to melt steel. Eventually he muttered out a sullen: "I thought he knew me better than that."

Porthos buried his face in his hands with a sigh. "He does, you idiot," he said eventually. "But Treville told him to check everyone, so he did. He looked at our files too, you know. How would it look later, if there's an inquiry? The three of us can't be above suspicion, or the whole system would fall apart."

Aramis looked torn between holding onto his misplaced anger and acknowledging his fault. Eventually the latter won out and he sagged into his seat. "It's just... You know Team Oscar lost Will on their last mission? There were men there before them, lying in wait. Whoever is betraying us did that, _killed him, _and we're wasting time looking through _our _records? It's bullshit. We should be finding the bastards."

"I'm trying my best," said a very quiet, wounded voice from the door and they both spun around to see d'Artagnan hesitating in the entryway. "It's not that easy."

For a moment no one said anything, stunned into silence by the sudden appearance of their missing team member. The left side of d'Artagnan's face was a mess of cuts and dark bruising, with his eye starting to swell closed. His left arm was held in a loose sling, and they could see a flesh-coloured wrist brace peeping out the edges of the cloth. He was a mess.

"What the hell happened to you?" Porthos asked, still too surprised to infuse the words with as much concern as he normally might have done.

d'Artagnan offered a one sided shrug, watching them warily as though he was expecting them to suddenly turn on him. "I was in an accident. Athos?"

Both agents reflexively turned to look at the man still dozing in the bed, taking comfort from the steady beating of the heart monitor. "Should make a full recovery," Aramis said quietly, not turning back to look at d'Artagnan. That was telling - when one of them was injured, Aramis wouldn't rest until he'd had a chance to look over their hurts personally, no matter what the EMTs tried to tell him. That he didn't even seem interested in the patchwork of blue across d'Art's cheek was a worry.

"Thank god."

"Are _you _alright?" Porthos was alternating between sending worried looks in d'Artagnan's direction and glaring at Aramis. The kid looked like he was about to shatter and Aramis was letting his guilt parade itself as anger.

As ever, d'Artagnan barely seemed to notice his own injuries. "It looks worse than it is. Sprained wrist, few cuts. Nothing that won't heal."

"That's not what I asked."

d'Artagnan opened his mouth as though to say that he was fine - lying through his teeth, of course - but then he stopped himself, seeming to shrink inwards as though he no longer had the energy to keep up the charade. He looked exhausted and heartsick, and Porthos could see the moment he decided that he couldn't give another ounce of his strength to try and bear Aramis' scorn. The image tugged at Porthos' heart painfully.

"I'm going to get some rest. Call me if anything changes?" He nodded at Athos as he spoke but he wouldn't meet Porthos' eyes. Aramis still hadn't turned to look at him.

"'Course."

There was a part of Porthos that knew if d'Artagnan walked out of that room now, something would be broken beyond repair. The only thing holding their bizarre family together was a bone-deep trust, the knowledge that they would die for each other without hesitation, and Aramis' anger had driven a wedge into the heart of that trust. They would end, with their leader in a hospital bed and their youngest heartbroken - it was a goddamn tragedy.

"d'Artagnan." Aramis still hadn't turned away from where he'd fixed his eyes on Athos' pale face but Porthos could see the guilt tearing through his features. Gathering his courage, the sniper forced his body to move so that he could face d'Art, lingering in the doorway uncertainly. Aramis put his arms out in an awkward surrender. "I'm not-" he tried, then stopped. "I'm upset that we haven't found the mole."

The Gascon flinched as though Aramis had slapped him. "You think I'm not?" And just like that, the meek world-weariness bled away to leave fierce, betrayed anger. "You think that I don't know how much it's costing the regiment that I can't find them? I don't have to carry a badge to care about the Musketeers. I know how important it is. I'm _trying. _I really am, and I'm still not getting anywhere no matter what I do. You don't need to tell me that it's not enough."

So many of their problems, Porthos mused, could be solved if they would just _talk _about things. Stubborn gits.

"I know you're trying," Aramis pleaded, pain warping his voice into unrecognisability. "I'm not trying to blame you." He stepped forwards but d'Artagnan pulled away just slightly, rejecting the physical contact that was so vital to Aramis - the sniper looked heart broken but held his ground. "d'Artagnan... I'm sorry. My anger was unfair and you didn't deserve it. You certainly didn't deserve my making you think that this was your fault. With all the data you managed to give Treville, we're so much closer to finding the mole than we would have been if it had been left to those assholes in Tech. Please do not let my cynicism ever make you believe you're not good enough."

The Gascon looked uneasy still, anger carving lines in his marred face, but he nodded slowly. "I'm sorry you thought I didn't trust you. I assure you that it's not the case."

"I never should have let myself believe that it was."

Awkward silence stretched across the room, broken only by the steady beeping of the monitor. Porthos sighed to himself, silently questioning why he befriended such idiots. "You're both morons," he said after a moment.

d'Artagnan smiled hesitantly, still looking unsure. "I think you've said that in the past," he said. "But I'm tired. I'll go..." he pointed vaguely behind him, starting to shuffle backwards to make his escape.

"Wait-" Aramis said, reaching out to grab him and then thinking better of it, aborting the movement in a strange darting motion. "Let me at least check you over?"

"I told you, I'm really alright. I managed to get myself to a hospital and they fixed me up. Really it's mostly just bruising." Despite his protests, he settled himself on the spare chair in the room with some difficulty.

"What did you do to yourself?"

"I, er- I managed to end up in a high speed chase across the city and ended up being rammed off the road. Van took far more damage than I did. The cuts are from the window being knocked in."

"How... How?" Porthos spluttered, more impressed than anything. He'd gone from out-of-sight monitor to involved in a high speed chase without any apparent middle ground. The kid had the worst habit of taking a situation and inexplicably bending it into the worst possible scenario without even trying.

"It cleared the guards out of your way, didn't it?"

Aramis huffed in amusement, gently taking hold of d'Art's injured wrist to test blood flow to his fingers. "You're a menace. Athos is going to be furious at you. And Treville for that matter."

"Aside from some mild property damage, I think I did alright," he defended but he was smiling, so relieved to have Aramis at his side again without having to suffer his glares and sharp comments. For the first time in almost a month, he looked content.

"Property damage?" Said a tired voice, and they all turned to see a bewildered-looking Athos blinking at them. He looked hilariously innocent, still a little worn from the anaesthetic and high on pain killers, with the smallest of frowns gathering on his brow. As one, they moved to gather around his bedside.

"Didn't think you'd wake up so soon," Aramis informed him cheerfully, reaching for the call button as he spoke. Further off, they heard the corresponding beeping at the nurses station. "You've been letting us do all the work while you laze about here."

"Work?" Athos parroted, still too drugged out of his mind to even remember what had happened. Morphine was a strange - and wonderful - thing.

"Don't worry about that," Porthos reassured him. "You just get some rest. The nurse here-" he said, nodding at the woman who had appeared in the doorway, "-is just going to check you over. It's fine, you're safe. Relax."

They backed away from the bed enough for the medical professionals to do their thing, and by the time they were left alone again, Athos had slipped back into sleep.

"He's going to be pissed about this when he wakes up properly," Porthos pointed out. "I've never met a man so unwilling to be in recovery."

"You might end up having to pin him down," Aramis said with a smile - it had happened in the past and no doubt it would happen in the future.

"That'll be something to enjoy."

d'Artagnan watched them quietly, biting back a yawn as exhaustion crept over his muscles, reminding him sharply of his battered body. It might only be bruising, but it still hurt like a bitch.

"Get some rest d'Artagnan. Treville should be here in the morning and you can fill him in then. Explain why you wrecked Musketeer property."

"I had my reasons."

"We know," Porthos said fondly, smiling as he watched the Gascon's eyes drooping. "Sleep."

Safe with his friends, d'Artagnan did just that.


	3. Chapter 3

_I've had a mixture of requests for this, so there's definitely content for more chapters. _

_This was supposed to be a combination of __**Mapbit's **__request for Obsessive!d'Art and then a little bit of __**Lillelouis' **__request for emotional trauma/sad!d'Art. However, since I am apparently incapable of anything else, this ended up mostly whump. I tried._

_Also Athos might feel a little out of character for sections here but this is set after all the shit with Milady so I figure he might have relaxed somewhat. I don't know. We'll see how it goes. _

_**EDIT:** So I've had some questions about the timeline of this AU. At this point in the story, d'Artagnan is still not a Musketeer, but the Milady arc has come to an end (I will be writing some of that at some stage). I've not yet worked out how the Aramis/Anne story is going to work - I'll get there in time. _

_Hope you like it._

* * *

><p>Athos' first clue that something was wrong was the day he came into the garrison half an hour early, only to find d'Artaganan already half way through his coffee mug with seemingly little intention of slowing down any time soon. The kid looked exhausted, dark bags under half-open eyes with shaking hands that spoke of too much caffeine, and wearing the same shirt and jeans Athos had last seen him in.<p>

For several moments Athos lingered in the doorway, waiting to be noticed. Several minutes passed with no signs of recognition so Athos cleared his throat gently to announce himself, raising his eyebrows in surprise when d'Art flinched violently at the sound. Too much caffeine indeed.

"Athos. I didn't hear you come in." He looked like a child caught doing something he knew he shouldn't, eyes averted with a blush rising on his face.

"I noticed."

There was an awkward moment of silence in which Athos took a certain amount of pleasure from d'Artagnan's discomfort. "You're early," d'Art managed eventually.

"So are you. Or are you late? Have you been home yet?" Despite himself, the worry creeping through his lungs managed to bleed into his tone.

d'Artagnan had the grace to look contrite. "I was going to run home for a shower at least, but I don't really think I'm in the best condition to drive right now."

Athos' eyebrow twitched. "What if I told you that we have a mission? Are you in any shape to be holding a _gun?_" Maybe accusations were not the right way to approach this situation but Athos' first priority would always be the safety of his team. The others knew that.

"I- um," d'Art started before looking away, not meeting Athos' eyes. He didn't look ashamed exactly, but maybe something approaching guilty? It was discomforting in the extreme. "I spoke to Treville," he admitted eventually, "He's taken me off active rotation for the immediate future by my request."

Of all the things Athos had been expecting him to say, that had not been among them, not even close. For a moment it was all he could do to stare at the kid in shock. d'Artagnan squirmed under his gaze. The silence was stretching painfully by the time Athos was able to regain sufficient control of his faculties to talk. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. Can you repeat that?"

d'Artagnan flinched at the restrained anger in his voice. "Athos-"

"You see, what I thought I heard was that one of our brightest recruits had turned in his gun for a desk job." There was something like rage boiling in his gut but it was mostly buried under blank confusion. d'Artagnan made no secret of the fact that he loved his job and what's more, he was _good _at it - Athos had never seen a fresh recruit with such aptitude for their work - and yet, he'd gone behind Athos' back to request a transfer. Protocol would normally dictate that such rearrangement was mediated upon by the team leader - himself.

"It's only temporary," d'Artagnan told him without meeting his eyes, voice heavy with defeat. "I'll be back on the team as soon as I can."

"Will you at least tell me why you're jumping ship?"

From the tense lines in d'Artagnan's shoulders, Athos knew he was pushing too hard, being too short with him, but his anger was pushing itself to the fore now, and there was nothing he could do. Somehow, this felt like betrayal.

They were both distracted from the conversation when Treville stomped his way through the main entrance, looking like he was inches away from throttling the nearest person. His eyes landed on Athos, and the lieutenant felt himself gulp.

"Athos, my office."

"Sir, I was just-"

"_Now." _

Athos swallowed down any further protests. "Yes sir."

As he left the room, Athos was fairly sure he could feel d'Artagnan's weighted gaze on the back of his neck and knew that their conversation was far from over. Whatever it was that was distressing the younger man, it was apparently sufficient for him to take a step back for the career he had literally killed for, and that was something that Athos really needed to know about.

"Take a seat," Treville ordered when the office door was closed behind them. Athos did as commanded, watching his superior carefully.

"Is there a problem?"

The Captain looked world weary, seeming to sag inwards as though the weight on his shoulders was crushing him into the floor. He sighed heavily and rubbed at his eyes - he knew that he had no need to appear strong in front of his first lieutenant. "Three days ago I sent Sierra team out on a simple recon mission. No contact - should have been completely routine."

Athos' mind jumped straight from Sierra team, to Constance, to d'Artagnan. If something had happened to her... It wasn't worth picturing. Thrusting away his growing panic with a forceful mental shove, Athos forced himself to focus. "What happened?"

"There was an ambush waiting for their convoy. Took out two of their jeeps before anyone even knew they were under attack."

"Survivors?" His voice was strained but Treville didn't comment.

"Agents Hawthorn and Bonacieux made it out, though Matthias took a bullet in the shoulder. One of their escort is still alive as well I believe, though in a critical condition."

Athos took a moment to allow himself to feel the relief of knowing Constance was alive, before he reminded himself firmly that what had been a four man team was now a duo. "Peterson and Demaison?"

"Demaison was in the first jeep to be hit. I gather Peterson laid down covering fire so that the rest of his team could get away." Treville's face looked older when it was shadowed with the heavy lines of guilt it wore now, the pain of being a leader sharpening with loss.

"They were honourable men," Athos offered, knowing that it was an empty condolence. Honour meant nothing in the face of death and grief.

Treville's eyes sharpened angrily. "There will be a memorial, medals of valour... You know how it goes. It's all a bullshit parade and in the end people that should have lived are still dead, and we continue to sit behind our desks playing god." Athos couldn't refute the claim if he wished to remain honest, so he said nothing, staring his commander down. "Only the dead have honour, and I'll have no part of it. If you had half a brain, you'd be the same."

Athos sniffed a little. "What about me screams honourable?" He asked sardonically. "All I try to do is follow orders and get my men home again."

Treville's lips quirked upwards into a slight smile, sharp edges softening just a little. "I know you do, and I thank you for that. But the fact remains that we've already lost too many Musketeers because someone is leaking information about this garrison to people who want us dead."

"Our ever elusive mole. Has there been any word?"

"That's why I called you in here. Has d'Artagnan spoken to you in the last few hours?"

Athos' brow furrowed, the pieces coming together slowly. "I was speaking to him before you arrived. He told me that you'd taken him off active rotation."

"The truth is that our tech team have been monitoring every piece of data that goes in and out of this garrison. I have Musketeers spying on other Musketeers, just so that I can keep track of my own men's movements. I want this fucker found, Athos, and right now, d'Artagnan is the best men I have for the job."

"So you're taking him off my team so that he can dedicate himself to tracking this leak?"

Treville's eyes narrowed at the sharp edge to Athos' tone. "Are you going to fight me on this?"

For half a second, Athos seriously considered saying that damn right he was, but then he hesitated; Peterson had been a good man, and a friend, and he knew that Aramis was still mourning Will's loss from last month. Knowing he had no choice, Athos sighed, wincing when the still healing wound in his chest pulled. "No. d'Artagnan's fully capable of making these decisions and he's with you on this. It's not my place to interfere. Besides, once that kid's set his mind to something, there's nothing I can say to dissuade him."

Treville's smile grew fonder as he shook his head. "You underestimate his respect for you."

Athos knew exactly how much faith d'Artagnan put in him, and how much he looked up to him, no matter how undeserved such adoration was. Voicing such an opinion however was unwise. Instead, he just replied, "Perhaps."

The Captain's eyes were glinting as though he knew exactly what his lieutenant was thinking, but he just nodded. "As it stands, I don't have anything for your team anyway. Though I should remind you that Aramis and Porthos are both approaching SSEs; you might want to have them going over techniques."

Skill and Strength Examinations were required yearly for every agent working under Treville and usually acted as an opportunity for an agent to show off their abilities - or at least, that was how Aramis and Porthos treated it. Athos sighed wearily. "Delightful."

"Might I remind you that you _chose _them for your team?"

"At the time I was under the impression I was dealing with fully matured adults," Athos shot back, though his voice was fond. His team might be immature children at times, but they were more his family than any blood relation he cared to name.

Treville's grin was wicked as he made a shooing motion, sending Athos from the office. d'Artagnan was still sitting at the table Athos had left him at, his eyes snapping up as his team leader approached, looking startled. Somehow, he looked even worse than he had ten minutes ago.

"Do we- I mean, is there a mission?"

Athos looked at him for a long moment and made a decision. "Grab your coat. I'm taking you home."

"Athos, no, what-"

"You're going to have a shower, sleep for at least a few hours and then I'll bring you back. I'm complying with Treville's ruling and I'm not going to pressure you to return to the team _but-_" he continued when d'Artagnan looked like he was about to interrupt with exclamations of gratitude, "-that comes with some conditions. One, you still have to actually sleep."

d'Artagnan looked sheepish but nodded. "I can do that. Sorry."

Athos hid his smirk by gripping the back of d'Art's shirt and pulling him upright, nudging him in the direction of the doors. "Come on."

* * *

><p>As anticipated, Aramis and Porthos were like a pair of children when they arrived at the gym. The garrison owned a plot of land near the edge of the city where they'd built their training grounds. Most of the plot was taken up by a large building which housed all manner of equipment, an open ground for combat training and a shooting range. Outside was taken up with tracks and sand pits.<p>

On rough days, Aramis was likely to be found in the shooting range, obliterating targets faster than they could be rehung. Porthos tended towards the combat room, beating his frustration out of punching bags or the occasional foolish recruit.

By the time Athos pulled up - having left d'Artagnan fast asleep at his flat - Aramis and Porthos were busying themselves with racing each other around the track. Athos watched with bemusement as Aramis, realising that he was about to lose, threw himself into the air to knock Porthos to the ground with a flying tackle. The bigger man came up swinging, landing a handful of gentle hits to Aramis' kidneys before the sniper could scramble out of reach.

"Children," Athos called, smirking a little when they both smiled innocently at him. "I though you were here to train?"

"Please," Aramis scoffed, "We're going to waltz these exams. We always do."

"That's no reason not to use the free time to work on your hand to hand," Athos commented mildly, restraining his smile, "You were looking a little rusty last time I saw you on the mats."

"Rus- _Rusty?_" Aramis screeched, outraged. He leapt to his feet and advanced towards him. "I'll show _you _rusty."

About a minute and a half later they were walking into the building, Aramis cursing bitterly as he rubbed at his shoulder and Athos smiling smugly to himself. Porthos was still wiping his eyes from his laughing fit. Aramis' litany of insults slipped into Spanish and their team leader threw him an I-told-you-so look. "You attacked me," he pointed out. "No one but yourself to blame."

"Yes, well, I forgot that you were _you,_" Aramis snapped back waspishly, though they could tell he wasn't truly angry. He could never hold any anger against them for long anyway. "Most people aren't thirteen stone of solid muscle and dry wit."

Porthos bumped his shoulder into Aramis', knocking the man off balance slightly. "Cheer up," he ordered him, "I'm pretty sure I heard something about new recruits training today. Lots of new bloods to throw about the mats."

"If anything happens to the recruits, Treville will have your heads," Athos warned them. "And mine, come to think of it."

"You're not suggesting we'd do anything to harm the poor dears, are you Athos?" Aramis could con a nun, Athos swore. There was far too much innocence in his eyes when he widened them like that, looking like a child in need of a loving hug and charity.

"Desist," he ordered when Aramis continued to stare at him beatifically. Porthos saved him by dragging the sniper towards the shooting range.

"Come on, you can kick my ass at targets for a bit. Recover a bit of your pride."

Athos let himself be pulled in by the soothing lull of friendly sarcasm, threaded throughout by the utter love shared between them. It didn't matter how many times Aramis hit the mat in sparring, he'd never need to feel ashamed before them - there was no such thing as lost pride in a family like theirs.

Aramis was winning three hundred and ten points to Porthos' one hundred and eighty when Athos' phone buzzed. He tugged it out and blinked at the screen for a minute before he remembered what he was supposed to do. He'd been happy with his ancient Nokia until three months ago it had taken a bullet - some Italian asshole who thought he could bring weapons across the border without permission - and d'Artagnan had been insistent he upgrade to a smart phone. It was the worst decision Athos had ever allowed himself to be talked into.

Speak of the devil and he will appear - the text was from d'Art: _"How chivalrous to leave before I wake up. I feel used."_

Athos couldn't help but smile. d'Artagnan had taken a long time to feel comfortable enough around them to relax out of the formalities and now here he was, texting Athos random innuendo. It was a far cry from the boy who had tried to kill them. After a moment's consideration, Athos replied: _"I only wanted your body." _

So maybe d'Artagnan wasn't the only one who had undergone some personal growth. There was only so long Athos could remain around Aramis and Porthos and not have their easy going, carefree nature rubbing off on him. He might still have a long way to go, but Athos was finally starting to let himself live again.

"_Wow. Buy me a drink first."_

"_I did. There's coffee on your counter."_

There was a few minutes pause, before his phone buzzed again. _"I could be convinced to do this again."_

Athos slid the phone back into his pocket with a grin, looking up to see that the other two were both watching him - apparently they had been for some time.

"Anything you want to share?" Aramis asked, his voice heavy with implications.

Athos scoffed. "Mind out of the gutter. It was d'Artagnan."

"Where is the whelp anyway? I would have thought he'd be here, exam or no," Porthos pointed out.

"About that," Athos started, then stopped himself. It seemed like too much to explain here and he could never be sure who was listening. "He's working on something for Treville," he summarised as briefly as he could. "He's not going to be working with us for a little while."

"Wait, _what?_" Aramis choked.

"I don't want to explain it here," Athos told them firmly, not allowing them room for argument. "I'll tell you later."

The looks on their faces clearly said that they would most definitely be continuing this conversation, but they both let it go without saying anything else. Aramis turned around and emptied his clip into the remaining targets, hitting the bullseye on every one. Porthos unloaded with a muttered _'Show off.' _Aramis stuck out his tongue.

"Combat?"

"You're on," Porthos said with a wide smile, wounded pride entirely forgotten at the promise of hand to hand. Athos, shaking his head, lead the way.

* * *

><p>Much to his irritation, Athos was woken at three in the morning by his phone ringing. Normally, such a thing would have him snapping awake, snatching up his mobile to answer the call because usually it wound be Treville calling him in for work. But Treville, without fail, called his mobile and the ringing was definitely coming from the almost unused land line across the room.<p>

He staggered out of bed with a grumble, groaning a little as his chest ached quietly. "Hello?" He snapped, rather more harshly than the situation perhaps warranted.

"Athos?"

It took him a long moment to place the voice. "_Pierre? _How did you even get this number? No, wait, sorry. What's wrong?" It wasn't his fault he had his priorities muddled when a Musketeer he barely knew was calling him at three in the fucking morning.

"I don't know if it's anything, I might be wrong, I just thought you might want to know-"

"Pierre, calm down. It's alright. What did you want to tell me?"

"d'Artagnan's still here. At the garrison. It's just, he's been here since this morning and he's looked exhausted all day, and I just thought you might want to try and convince him to get some rest? He looks wrecked."

Athos had to take a minute to cool his anger. It wasn't Pierre's fault that d'Artagnan had taken approximately twelve hours to go back on his word. "I will. Thank you for telling me, it was the right thing to do. How _did _you get this number anyway?"

"If anything happens to the Captain, he's named you as his replacement," Pierre said as though it were obvious. "This is the number given to contact you should anything happen to him."

It made sense of course, Athos was Treville's second in command. Of course the responsibility would fall to him. Athos had just never thought about it in such a literal sense.

"Okay. Thank you. Get some rest."

"I will Sir. Good night."

It wasn't a good night - it was an awful night because Athos was having to climb into his car at three thirty in the morning to go and pick up a computer tech who was too smart for his own good and yet still didn't know that he needed sleep to remain functioning. Christ Athos needed a holiday.

His fury was tempered somewhat when he finally caught sight of d'Artagnan, slumped exhaustedly in front of his laptop with a dark frown on his face. There was a coffee cup beside his hand and the coffee pot itself sitting in the centre of the table, as though d'Art had given up on getting up every time he wanted a refill.

"What was the one thing you promised me when I agreed to this?" Athos demanded without making his presence known. d'Artagnan jumped a foot in the air, one hand dropping to where his gun would normally sit - it was something of a miracle that he'd had to hand it in when he was taken off rotation.

Recognising the intruder, d'Artagnan slumped back into his chair. "I went home. Tried to get some sleep and couldn't. Not much point in my sitting around at home when I might as well put my insomnia to good use." He sounded jittery, like he'd consumed far too much caffeine to still be maintaining a stable heart rate.

"You don't think the coffee pot might have something to do with your sudden inability to sleep?"

"It's just keeping me level headed, that's all."

Athos wanted to tear his hair out. "d'Artagnan, this is not level headed. This is _ridiculous. _You've had, what? Three hours of sleep in two days? That's not enough to keep you going and you know that. Burning yourself out isn't going to help anyone."

"I'm _fine _Athos. You don't need to babysit me." He was starting to sound angry, too hyped up to recognise the concern of a friend.

"Apparently someone has to. Otherwise I wouldn't be being dragged out of bed by calls telling me that you look half dead and need someone to take you home."

"I didn't ask you to come out here," d'Artagnan snarled back. "Go back to bed if it's so fucking important."

"Don't be a child," Athos snapped, temper suddenly flaring and instantly he knew that he'd said precisely the wrong thing. d'Artagnan's back snapped straight, eyes flaring to life amongst shadowed, exhausted features.

"I think you'll find," he said with cold venom, "That I currently answer to Treville, and not to you. So, if you're quite finished, I'd let to get some work done."

Athos jerked back like he'd been slapped. He knew, rationally, that this was the fatigue talking, and that the man in front of him was not the same man he'd been texting earlier in the day. It still hurt like a bitch to be disowned so casually.

d'Artagnan had already turned back to his laptop and was pointedly not looking at Athos, attention focussed solely on the documents he was scrolling through. Chest aching, both physically and emotionally, Athos turned and left without another word. He didn't see the pained look that d'Artagnan shot him over his shoulder, or the way the boy crumpled when he didn't look back.

* * *

><p>Somehow, Athos didn't see d'Artagnan for another two days. He seemed to have taken himself off into the dark depths of the garrison, if the rumours going around were anything to go by. Worry and guilt were warring for dominance inside Athos, and all his attempts to contact d'Artagnan to rectify the situation were going unanswered.<p>

Aramis and Porthos had been unenthused by Athos' explanation of the kid's exclusion from the team but they'd followed his lead as always. Aramis in particular was desperate to get his hands on whoever it was that was getting their friends killed. Against his better judgement, Athos had refrained from telling the others about d'Art's new and worrying sleeping habits, deciding that involving more people would just be likely to spark the boy's temper. The last thing they needed was another argument.

By the third day with no contact, Athos decided that enough was enough. Sending Aramis and Porthos out to amuse themselves - which was always a terrible idea but he had no choice - he took himself off in the direction of the archives. For someone who loved technology so much, d'Artagnan had an immense love of books, and would take himself off to the library or the archives whenever he wanted peace, as though just being around the old pages made him calmer.

When the archives proved empty apart from Serge - the ancient archivist who was beloved by everyone - Athos turned himself in the direction of the library. d'Artagnan wasn't their either, but Athos stumbled into Matthias - one arm in a sling and face still a little too pale to be healthy.

"Athos," he greeted easily, voice just slightly tense with pain.

"Matthias. How's your shoulder? I heard that it was pretty rough back there."

The man's eyes darkened, his face contorting with momentary hatred. "Hard to complain when I've had to bury two friends this week."

Athos winced a little, realising his mistake. Matthias didn't seem angry with him though, his glare directed into empty space instead. "Of course. How's Constance holding up?"

"How do you think? She's on leave for emotional recovery. So I am, technically, but there wasn't any point in sitting at home feeling sorry for myself when I could be here, doing something. _Anything. _If it wasn't for this damn shoulder, I'd have been petitioning Treville for a case."

"I know the feeling," Athos admitted, thinking of the hole still knitting together in his chest and wondering if that was why Treville had been evasive when he'd asked after some work.

"I'm sure," Matthias said, the anger leaving his face in an aborted attempt at a smile. "I heard what happened. No lasting damage?"

"Apparently I should be fine eventually. Had a little physiotherapy to make sure all my muscles were in the right place, but I haven't kept it up. Aramis is enough of a mother hen to avoid hospitals at all costs."

This time an actual smile quirked Matthias' lips upwards, and Athos considered it a victory. There was always a worry when a team came back with fewer members than when it left that the survivors wouldn't be able to readjust. Athos had seen it happen before. He had a feeling though, that Matthias was going to be alright - he spared a thought for Constance, and made a mental note to go and check on her before the end of the day.

"Have you seen d'Artagnan recently?" Athos asked, remembering why he was here.

Matthias frowned as he thought back. "He was here earlier. I didn't see him leave - it can't have been more than ten minutes ago though."

Athos nodded his thanks and left, thinking hard. If d'Artagnan wasn't in his usual haunts, it was likely he was hiding from anyone who might come looking for him - meaning Athos. He wasn't prepared to try and process that information right now, so he just shook it out of his head and focussed. If d'Artagnan wasn't looking to be found, then he'd head somewhere that Athos would be unwilling to go; those places were few and far between within the garrison.

Realisation came to him slowly, and Athos had to smile at the boy's ingenuity, even as he cursed him to hell. There was only one place he could think of when d'Artagnan would feel comfortable and yet Athos would fear to tread - the tech department.

It was only two floors down and it took Athos less than a minute to find himself outside the door, hesitating. If d'Artagnan was purposefully avoiding him, was it really wise to pursue him into his chosen sanctuary? But it didn't matter what was wise, he reminded himself as he pushed the door open, not when he was hearing rumours that d'Artagnan hadn't been home for days.

One look at the boy confirmed all his worst suspicions. He looked utterly _wrecked, _clothes rumpled, hair in disarray, with his ever present coffee mug at his side. His eyes were ringed so deeply that he looked vaguely corpse-like.

"I didn't think you'd find me here," d'Artagnan told him without glancing up. His voice was scratchy from insufficient hydration. If all he'd been sustaining himself on was coffee, Athos was impressed that he could still hold himself upright.

"That's how I knew where you'd be."

"Couldn't take a hint, huh." It wasn't a question.

"Decided not to. Look, I really don't give a shit what you think of me right now d'Artagnan but if you think for one minute that I'm going to sit back and watch you kill yourself over this, you've got another thing coming."

"It's not up to you."

"Actually," Athos told him firmly, determined not to let his temper get in the way again. "It is. You've not been technically transferred out of my team yet and that means it remains up to my discretion as to whether or not you're fit for duty. Don't think I won't bench your ass."

d'Artagnan pushed himself to his feet, staggered a little, then recovered, looking furious. "What would that even achieve? Why is this so fucking important to you?"

"I will not watch a good man kill himself for no good reason."

"_No good- _Look around you! People are dying!"

"I know! That is not an excuse for you to work yourself to death just to save whatever pride you're putting in this. There are other agents looking into this matter, and you know it. You're literally shaking from exhaustion d'Artagnan," he pointed out, nodding at his trembling hands. d'Art folded them into his pockets to hide them. "You can't expect me to believe that you're getting anything productive done when you're this hyped."

For a moment, d'Artagnan continued to hold himself rigidly, glaring at Athos' left shoulder before he sagged in on himself, slumping back down into his chair. Athos approached warily. "I'm so close," d'Art told him, so quietly that he barely heard him. "I can feel it. I just need a little longer."

"All the more reason to take a break. Come on. Give what you've found to Treville and I'll give you a lift home. It's getting late anyway."

d'Artagnan looked ready to argue again but it was clear his outburst had sapped the last of his strength and he complied without another word, saving everything onto a pendrive he seemed to have procured from nowhere. He teetered on his feet when he rose, and Athos laid a steadying hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremors running through him with some concern.

Treville looked between an obviously exhausted d'Artagnan and Athos for a long minute, silently conveying _'whatever's going on here, fix it,' _to his lieutenant. Athos inclined his head in acknowledgement and they were sent away.

It was obviously a struggle for d'Artagnan to stay awake in the car but he managed it, turning the AC on to blast him in the face with frigid air in a vain attempt to revive himself. Athos watched him with one eye while he navigated down the quiet streets. Paris was never silent but it had grown late enough now that the roads were clearer, and they were able to reach their destination in under twenty minutes.

He pulled into the car park and slipped off his belt, fully intent on helping d'Artagnan to his fourth floor flat, but he was stopped by a cool hand on his arm. "It's alright, I can manage," d'Art told him, trying for firm but just appearing weary. He didn't sound for one moment as though he could manage, but Athos instinctively knew that disagreeing with him would lead to another fight and that was the last thing he wanted.

He watched as d'Art slipped out of the car, unbalancing slightly but remaining on his feet, and decided that he'd give him two minutes to get to his flat or he'd follow him in. He sat there, enjoying the slight breeze of the air conditioning against his skin with his eyes fixed on the windows of d'Art's flat, waiting for the lights to come on.

A minute passed and then two, with no change. Anxious again, Athos turned the idling engine off and slipped out of his door, turning to push it shut behind him.

His back was still turned when the explosion hit.

He was close enough to it that he felt the heat brush around his exposed skin, the force knocking him half a step forwards into the car door before he could turn to see what had happened. A part of him already knew. Where d'Artagnan's flat had once been, there was now a smoking, blackened space, gaping open in the side of the building that mercifully seemed stable. Thank god for good engineering.

Athos barely spared the neighbours a thought as he flung himself forwards, towards the main doors where he could already hear smoke alarms blaring and the first stirrings of terrified voices. It was his duty to call it in but all that he cared about in that heart stopping minute was d'Artagnan. There could be a chance - he might have been shielded somehow, or maybe he hadn't reached the flat yet, or _something, _because Athos could not lose another brother.

It would kill him.

* * *

><p>When d'Artagnan stirred, he was first aware that his head felt like he'd smashed it into a brick wall. A moment later the memories came back and he realised that he probably had at some point, not that it was any comfort. There was also a shrill ringing in his ears that was doing nothing to help the agonising headache. He supposed he should be thankful he was still alive at all - he was in far too much pain to be dead - but it was hard to summon up gratitude when he could feel every inch of his skin crackling with the promise of pain. A groan slipped out of his lips.<p>

With great care, he was able to bring his arms under control and dragged them upwards to cradle his aching head, lightly skimming over his skull and coming away tacky with blood. So he had hit a wall then. Not really surprising.

He'd been approaching his front door when he heard his alarm going off. That was enough to set his mind on alert, followed rapidly by the sight of his broken lock and the door hanging slightly ajar. It could just be thieves of course - this was Paris and he was hardly living in the nicest neighbourhood in the city - but something in his heart told him that there was more to it than that. He'd taken another half step towards the door then hesitated, remembering Athos was just downstairs, and, knowing him, probably still waiting to see if he got home safely. It would be wise in his current condition to have back up.

It was as he turned to head back towards the stairs - the elevator hadn't worked in all the time d'Artagnan had lived there, much to Aramis' continued chagrin - that there was a blast of noise and heat and light and then he was passing out.

An explosion? That seemed like the most likely option which meant that d'Artagnan really was the luckiest son of a bitch in history, excluding of course the fact that someone had just tried to kill him.

There were alarms going off, he realised beneath the cotton wool plugging his ears, wincing a little as the piercing wail rattled through his pained skull. He wasn't sure that fire alarms would do much good to warn people - there was no way anyone in the building didn't hear that explosion - but it would be enough to summon the authorities. The Musketeers too with any luck.

_Athos! _He'd forgotten about him. d'Artagnan could feel his thoughts slipping about, some lodged more firmly than others, but all too cloudy to do more than lay there in agonised, stunned confusion. It didn't matter though, Athos would be coming. No matter what tension there might be between them currently, Athos would always have his back and if he was around then d'Artagnan didn't have to worry about keeping himself safe.

An indeterminable amount of time passed before he heard shouting, nearby and distressed, but d'Artagnan didn't think it had been long. There were hands on him then, and it sounded as though someone was trying to talk to him but the voice was muffled and distorted, as though his ears were damaged. He couldn't do more than groan at whoever it was trying to communicate with him. Had he been alone? No, there was someone with him, wasn't there? He groaned again, feeling the thoughts sliding out of his skull. He was just so tired...

* * *

><p>The relief that had flooded Athos when he'd seen d'Artagnan had dimmed when he took in the bleeding head wound and the burns that peeked through the smouldering gaps in his shirt, but there was a steady pulse at his throat that helped to calm Athos' own racing heart. d'Art groaned when he touched him, meaning he had at least some level of consciousness - a very good sign.<p>

"d'Artagnan! Can you hear me?" He called softly, not wanting to talk too loudly in deference to the pain that must no doubt be crushing his skull. There was another groan and then all the muscles beneath Athos' hands went limp. Thinking his heart was going to fall out of his chest, he reached for his pulse again and only breathed when he felt the steady beat.

He had to get d'Art out of here. The kid needed medical attention, that much was obvious, but if someone was trying to kill him then they couldn't just walk into the nearest hospital. The first safe place he could name was the garrison but Athos was unwilling to bring d'Artagnan there right now. There was a mole in the Musketeers and who was to say that they wouldn't see this as an opportunity to take out the man trying to hunt them down?

If the garrison wasn't possible, then the next best thing was Athos' house. The address in his records was for a tiny flat very near the garrison, though Athos spent almost no time there at all, preferring the much larger house he maintained further away from the centre of the city. It was easily defensible and only a handful of people knew about it - Treville, his team, Constance and his personal doctor.

Mind made up, Athos scooped up d'Artagnan as gently as he could - the boy didn't so much as twitch - and headed for the stairs, moving as quickly as he could while carrying another fully grown man. d'Artagnan might be a bean pole, but he was deceptively heavy, wrapped as he was in lean muscle.

He settled him in the back seat and pulled out his phone, shooting off a text to Aramis and Porthos as quickly as he could that simply read _'My house. Now.' _They wouldn't question it, he was sure.

* * *

><p>Aramis and Porthos arrived together, both looking a little rugged but blinking alert with concern.<p>

"What's going on?" Porthos asked as soon as the door was closed behind them.

Athos gestured them to follow him as he headed for the stairs, hurrying just a litte. "d'Artagnan's in the guest bedroom. He's hurt. There's a gash on the back of his head and a pretty heavy concussion I'd guess, along with burns along his back. On top of that, I'm fairly sure he's not slept or eaten in the last few days."

There was the slightest pause of surprise before Aramis kicked himself into gear. "Does he need stitches?"

"I think so."

"Not the hospital?"

"It would seem that someone's trying to kill him. I'd rather not risk the hospital until I'm sure he'd be safe there." They entered the room where he'd put d'Artagnan and all three of them needed a minute to take in the damage done to their young friend. Athos had removed his shirt, revealing the full extent of the burns lancing across his shoulders, and his hair was matted with blood that was leaking onto the pillow beneath him gruesomely.

"Jesus," Porthos murmured. the word startled Aramis into action, darting forwards and waving an expectant hand towards them.

"Med kit. Now." Athos had already retrieved it from the bathroom and now passed it to the medic, taking comfort from the steadiness of Aramis' hands. "He needs a hospital Athos. If his skull's damaged..."

"Do what you can. I've called Treville - he's trying to sort something out but he doesn't know who he can reach out to. Shit," he breathed, rubbing at his face. "This is such a mess."

"Tell us what happened," Porthos ordered him, steering him into the sofa at the side of the room so that he could drop into it. "Start at the beginning. This have something to do with what the kid's been working on?"

Athos nodded slowly. "I think so. He's been obsessive about this since he left the team. I don't think he's left the garrison in the last few days at all, and I'd be surprised if he was taking breaks to eat. Earlier I caught up with him and, after some persuasion, convinced him to give Treville what he had and go home. He said that he thought he was getting close to something big."

"The mole?"

"I think so. But I told him that he could worry about that later and just to leave it. He was exhausted so I offered him a lift - he could barely keep his eyes open the whole time." Athos paused, feeling a tug of guilt in his belly at the thought of how he'd let a semi-conscious d'Artagnan off on his own.

"You made it to his flat?" Aramis questioned without looking up when the silence stretched a little too long.

"Yes. I waited in the car for him to head up - I was going to leave as soon as I saw the lights come on and then... There was an explosion. His whole flat was just _gone._"

Both of the others had gone very still, muscles freezing in sheer rage. "Someone planted a bomb in his home?" Porthos confirmed quietly, voice trembling just slightly.

Athos just nodded at him. He could see Aramis setting down his needle for a moment so that he could draw in a steadying breath, burying one hand in the boy's blood-soaked hair as though the physical contact was enough to tether him there. Porthos was much less still in his distress. He snapped to his feet in one jerky movement, his face a thunderstorm as the lamp that had been beside him went flying across the room to smash against the opposite wall. Aramis flinched.

"Porthos," Athos reprimanded gently. Not that it made much difference - he had no attachment to the thing and he could always by another.

"Sorry," the bigger man bit out sharply, flexing his fists to keep himself from breaking anything else, wound much too tightly.

"We'll make them pay for this," Aramis commented almost idly, taking up his needle again to continue patching up their young friend. "You know we will. Save your rage."

"I've got plenty," Porthos muttered, but let himself relax back into the sofa beside Athos.

The silence stretched out, all three of them subconsciously listening out for any signs of awareness in d'Artagnan, waiting for the moment where he would wake up. The concussion meant that they couldn't just leave him to sleep but Athos was also painfully aware that the kid desperately needed the rest - he was in no shape to be recovering from an explosion.

Athos' phone trilled suddenly, the sound excessively loud after so long in silence. He snatched at it, glancing at the screen long enough to see Treville's name before he hit the green symbol.

"Sir."

"How is he?"

There was no question of who he meant. "Aramis is stitching him up now." He pulled the phone away from his mouth to ask the sniper, "Prognosis?"

"He's going to be miserable for a while but nothing _seems_ damaged beyond repair. I need scans to be more certain."

"We could really use a hospital sir," he told Treville, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. For all they knew, d'Artagnan was slowly slipping away from them because his brain was swelling or any other number of horrific things that could happen with head wounds, and they were just sitting there, watching Aramis knitting his skin back together, helpless.

"There's a clinic, about twenty miles south of the city," the Captain told them. "I know the man who runs it - old friend of mine. You won't be able to stay there but it'll get you access to at least some of the more basic machinery. It's a step up from a first aid kit at the very least."

"Thank you," Athos told him with fervour. It was something. He gestured to Porthos to get d'Artagnan mobile, fishing in his pockets with his free hand for his car keys. "Send me the address?"

"Of course. I'll call you if we find anything."

"Be careful Captain. Whoever did this was willing to kill a Musketeer without even trying to be discreet. I hate to think what they might do if you corner them."

"I know my job Athos. Look after your men and let me take care of mine."

He hung up and moments later the phone buzzed with a new text, listing the name and address of their destination. Porthos had, with Aramis' help, managed to scoop d'Artagnan up without pressing on the burns along his back while supporting his head against too much motion.

"Where are we going?" Aramis asked him as they made their way carefully down the stairs.

"Treville said that he knows a man running a clinic south of the city. He should be able to help us. It's no hospital but it's better than we can do here."

Aramis must have heard the self-recrimination in his voice because he snatched at his shoulder, pulling him around so they were face to face. "Don't you dare pin this on yourself. If you hadn't been there, d'Artagnan might not have made it even this far, so don't for one second think that you're not doing enough. If you even try, I may have to hit you." Porthos was nodding his head in fierce agreement, mouth twisted down at the corners.

It was an argument that Athos was never going to win with these two, so he just shrugged off Aramis' hand and started leading them towards his car again. It shouldn't take them long to reach the clinic, and with any luck, they wouldn't run into any trouble along the way.

* * *

><p>By the grace of whatever god Aramis had been praying to, they arrived without incident. Years of working as an agent had made Athos very good at driving well over the speed limit without causing accidents at every junction but even he had a few close shaves with the cars they passed.<p>

The doctor who owned the clinic met them at the door - Treville had rang ahead to announce them - and he ushered them in without asking any questions. Athos decided instantly that he liked this man. He was growing old, probably already in his early sixties, with a wrinkled face that looked as though it had smiled often through his life. His eyes tightened unhappily when he saw the state of d'Artagnan.

The kid had woken up on the journey, much to their relief, but he'd been mostly incoherent and had fallen asleep again shortly after, distress curling across his features. Porthos carried him carefully into the clinic and followed the doctor down several corridors and into a room that contained an MRI machine.

Under the doctor's careful instructions, they had d'Artagnan in the machine in just a few moments and had retreated into the observation room to wait.

"My name is Doctor Adams," the man told them with a soft English accent. When Aramis opened his mouth to reply, he held up a hand, stalling him. "Please, do not tell me your names, any of you. You are friends of Treville and I will offer you what shelter I can but I have a family to think of too. The less I know about you, the safer they will be."

"You are very kind," Aramis told him sincerely, grasping Adams' hand in a firm shake. "Thank you."

"If you are working for Treville, it is no doubt I who should be thanking you. From what I have seen of your line of work, you do great good for this country and her people. Consider this my way of showing my gratitude." He looked through the glass into the scanning room where the machine was whirring to life, the occasional heavy metal clanking echoing through the small space. "The scan will take some time. If you know what you're looking at, you can see the measurements here," he said, indicating one of the computer screens. "You're welcome to remain in here for the procedure. I can have some chairs brought in."

"That would be most kind," Aramis said, apparently aware that Porthos still wasn't quite removed enough from his anger for courtesy and Athos was much too caught up in the emotions of the day to remember how to deal with people.

Adams nodded, casting a thoughtful glance around the three of them before leaving with the promise that he would check in every now and again. As he said, some nurses appeared with chairs soon enough and Aramis was able to force them both into them and demand that they rest for a while. It was clear that the sniper was just as exhausted, but he would always put his own health below that of his friends.

Too tired to argue with him about it, Athos just sagged into the uncomfortable plastic and let his mind close in on him, so exhausted that he couldn't even bring himself to worry about the fate of the Gascon in the next room. Within moments, he was asleep.

* * *

><p>When Porthos poked Athos awake, it was to say that the scan was finished and they'd finally had some good news. d'Artagnan was in bad shape, no doubt, but his brain was unhurt. It would seem that apart from the concussions and the burns - and the temporary hearing loss that accompanied any explosion - he really was alright, which meant he should make a full recovery if given time.<p>

"We can't stay here," Athos reminded them as they all stood blearily in front of the monitor, looking at brain scans that none of them really understood. "It's not safe and it's not fair to put this clinic at risk."

"Where do we go then?" Porthos asked. "We can't go back to the garrison and he can't take him home. Back to your house?"

"There's no reason to assume that my house is any more safe than the garrison at this point. I think that we should act under the assumption that anywhere known about by the Musketeers is no longer a viable option."

"That doesn't give us many options Athos," Aramis pointed out with tired desperation edging his tone.

Athos sighed heavily and rubbed at his eyes in a vain attempt to encourage them that being open was almost as good as being closed. "What do you suggest?"

Really, the only thing they could do was call Treville. He was the one that they always turned to when they were in trouble and couldn't see a way out without help, and he'd never failed to be there for them in all their years of acquaintance.

"I'll make the call," Athos told the others and pointed them in the direction of d'Artagnan. "Go and check on him. Try and wake him up. If you can't, just get him in the car." Once they were gone, he pulled out his phone and took a deep breath. The Captain picked up on the second ring.

"News?"

"He's alright. Skull's in one piece, thank god. Fairly heavy concussion and a couple of burns but nothing that he won't recover from. Anything on your end?"

"Not so far but I think that if I can talk to d'Artagnan about what's in the files he gave me, it might give us the answers we need. Can you get him here?"

"I don't think it's wise to bring him to the garrison Sir," Athos argued immediately. "And even if I could, he's not been all that coherent recently. He almost died last night!"

There was a pause as the Captain thought about it. "You could bring him to my house. I can meet you there. It's not on Musketeer records so there's no way that anyone else should know where it is and d'Artagnan can rest there for as long as he needs. Since Marie died, it's been mostly empty anyway."

Marie was the Captain's late wife - killed after she was kidnapped by men hoping to gain leverage over the leader of the Musketeers. Treville had found her as soon as he could, but it wasn't before they'd shot her in the gut and left her to bleed out slowly. It was just about the cruellest thing they could have done.

Athos gave an understanding hum, wishing that he could say something of comfort but not finding the words. Instead he said softly, "We'll meet you there."

When he hung up, Aramis was approaching hesitantly. "Do we have a plan? Tell me we're not taking him to the garrison."

"Of course not. Treville says that we can use his house for the time being - he might have something but he needs to ask d'Artagnan some questions. Did he wake up?"

Aramis shot a glance over his shoulder to where Porthos was gently pulling the younger man into his arms, trying not to jostle him too badly. "Sort of. He was conscious at the very least, but disorientated. Not exactly unexpected. Once we're in the car I'll try and get him to come all the way around; it's not wise to have let him sleep with a concussion for so long."

"Concussion or not, he's barely slept in the last week," Athos reminded him. "It's not surprising that his body is refusing to come back online so soon."

The sniper grimaced but nodded in agreement as they followed Porthos out of the building, darting ahead to open doors along the way. When Athos headed for the driver's door, he was halted by Aramis' hand on his shoulder. "Nope, that's not happening," he said, snatching the keys out of his hand before he could stop him.

"It's my car."

"I don't care."

"You're supposed to be trying to wake d'Artagnan up."

"I will be. _Porthos _will be driving. While I defer to your skills in almost every other thing, your driving leaves a little to be desired when you're exhausted and stressed. Sit back, relax. Get some more sleep." Aramis was smiling like a man who knew he'd won, and when Porthos joined them Athos could see that he was severely outmatched.

"Fine," he agreed moodily. Porthos was by far the best driver of the three of them, that was for sure, but Athos wasn't half bad either and it was his damn car. "Don't scratch the paint."

"Have I ever?" Porthos asked with some offence. He was already sliding into the car though and Athos didn't have a chance to respond before the door was closed in his face. Grumbling about pushy Musketeers, Athos scrambled into the front seat instead and turned to see where Aramis was balancing d'Artagnan's head on his lap, a hand on his shoulder while he muttered a steady stream of Spanish.

"You know that he doesn't speak Spanish, right?"

Aramis didn't look up as he replied, "He speaks Italian, French, Russian, and some English and Portuguese. And that's only what we know of. I think that it's high time he learned a half decent language."

d'Artagnan's previously slack face scrunched up a little then, and he struggled to open his eyes to look at them. "I don't like Spanish," he muttered very softly.

Athos had to laugh at the expression on Aramis' face, torn between immense relief and betrayal. Eventually the latter won out, but there was still a fondness in his face that warmed Athos. "I'll have you know that Spanish is far superior to any other language, and I'll not hear another word against it. I will blame your concussion for your current, misguided state."

"You say C's as Th's," d'Art told him calmly, his eyes still not fully open and his body remaining as lax as before. "It's stupid." He was slurring a little bit but it might just be the remnants of the heavy sleep he was trying to wake from.

"I'd watch what you say before Aramis throttles you," Athos warned him with a smile, relief so strong that he would have collapsed if he hadn't been sitting. Beside him, Porthos was beaming out of the windshield, unable to turn around.

"Athos?" d'Artagnan's efforts to open his eyes were renewed, and a moment later he was blinking owlishly at their team leader. "Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Um," d'Art said eloquently, frowning. He looked like a confused puppy. "I thought... I can't remember. What happened?" He reached up a hand to gently cup his skull, apparently noticing for the first time that his head was resting on Aramis' thighs but deciding that he had no great need to change that state.

"What _can_ you remember?"

"I was... going home? Someone was with me, I think, but then they weren't. I was tired. Did I hit my head?"

"Quite badly, in fact," Aramis told him. "You've just been having a brain scan to make sure that everything's still in one piece."

"Is it?"

"Just about."

"Oh. Good."

"Do you remember anything else?" Athos pushed.

"Not really... wait. I was going into my flat but something was wrong. I could hear an alarm... Then there's nothing."

That made a certain amount of sense. It also explained why d'Artagnan hadn't just walked straight into his flat and been killed as intended - that alarm had saved his life. "The alarm was because someone broke into your flat. They... it's gone, d'Artagnan." He tried to announce it as calmly as he could, not knowing how he would respond to finding out his home had been destroyed.

"The flat?"

"Yes. There was an explosion... I don't know if they've been able to recover anything or not."

d'Artagnan was quiet for so long that Athos started to believe he'd fallen asleep again, but then he sighed heavily. "That sucks. Can I stay with one of you for a while?"

Well, that was anticlimactic. "That's it?" Aramis blurted out in surprise.

"What's it?"

"You're not upset? I mean, I'm glad that you're taking this so well but your home was just destroyed."

d'Artagnan turned his head as best he could to look at the marksman, considering. When he spoke, his voice was low. "My _home_ is in Gascony. My _flat _was just where I've been staying; I had no real attachment to the place. As for my things... I can buy more clothes. Financially it's crappy but I had insurance - though admittedly it might not cover explosive attempts on my life. There's... I only have four things in my life that I couldn't bare to lose and none of them were in that flat."

"You sound like you _prepared _for this," Athos accused mildly. Knowing d'Artagnan, he probably had. In response, d'Art just smiled before breaking off into a yawn.

Aramis took pity. "We're heading back into the city but it's going to be a while. Get some more rest. We'll wake you when we get there."

d'Artagnan didn't have time to argue before he was drifting off again, lulled by the painlessness of sleep.

* * *

><p>Treville was there before them, ushering them into a living room that looked as though it hadn't seen guests in several years, with a thin layer of dust coating the furniture and a slightly stale smell pervading the air. The Captain looked around the four of them, taking in d'Artagnan's semi-aware state without comment.<p>

After a moment he turned to Aramis and Porthos. "I'm obligated to say that I'm very disappointed you both missed your SSEs this morning. After pulling some strings, they've been rearranged to next week instead."

They looked at each other and Athos could see they both silently counting the days to work out if it was in fact Friday. "I think these class as extenuating circumstances, Captain," Athos argued on their behalf, though they could see that Treville wasn't really angry with them. Of course they'd forgotten in light of one of their team members almost being murdered.

Treville looked a little uncertain for a moment, then sighed. "I've not told the rest of the garrison what's happened."

Athos was too surprised for a moment to even register his own anger. Eventually he was able to protest, "But they could be at risk!"

"I know that," Treville snapped back. "But they're all at risk for as long as there is a man leaking our information. If that person finds out that d'Artagnan survived the attempt on his life, then he might go underground or worse, try again. We need this resolved as quickly as possible."

It made sense, Athos supposed but that didn't make it any less horrible to bear. "It ain't right," Porthos growled quietly but they could see the defeat in his shoulders.

Throughout the conversation, d'Artagnan had slowly been stirring himself back into proper wakefulness as he tried to get a grip on what it was they were saying. He knew that he had something important to tell them, and that it was vital he told them as soon as he could but it took him several long moments before he could remember the right words. He cleared his throat softly, waiting until he was sure they were listening; he only had the energy to explain this once. With his voice a little tremulous, he informed them, "I know who the mole is."

* * *

><p><em>FYI, I love Spanish. All derogatory comments against the language in this are the concussion-born ramblings of d'Art and nothing else. I hope no offence was caused. <em>

_This was supposed to be short! I swear! I don't know what happened. It wasn't supposed to end on a cliffhanger either but it's already over 10,000 words and that's more than enough thank you very much. Hopefully the next chapter shouldn't be too long in the making. I'm sort of taking part in Nano so most of it should be done in the next few days. _


	4. Chapter 4

_I'd written 8000 words of this by mid-November and then I completely forgot about it. I've had so much uni work to do and I have exams straight after Christmas because they're evil bastards, so writing is not top of my to-do list right now. However, you guys have been great and I thought I could spare the time to give you a Christmas update!_

* * *

><p>The stunned silence reigned until d'Artagnan shifted uncomfortably against the sofa cushions he was propped up with. "I might be wrong, I'm not completely sure but if you've got my data with you I can-"<p>

He looked like he was about to have a panic attack, so Aramis stopped him with a careful hand on his shoulder. "d'Art. Deep breath, calm down. Tell us what you mean."

"I can't be sure until I check over the documents again, but I had an idea. I don't think the mole is a Musketeer at all."

Athos and Treville looked at each other to share a silent conversation. It was clear that Treville was leaning towards the conclusion that d'Artagnan's head wound was scrambling his thoughts, and while there might be some truth to that, Athos was vehement in his faith of d'Artagnan - if the kid told him that the mole wasn't a Musketeer, he'd believe him without question.

"I thought we'd agreed that the only people able to get the information were people already inside the garrison," Porthos pointed out, looking to Aramis for confirmation. The sniper was nodding in agreement.

"Exactly," d'Artagnan said as though his meaning was obvious, his eyes sliding closed for a moment as his head pounded fiercely. He really wouldn't mind some painkillers right about now. Aramis muttered something and stood, returning moments later with a glass of water and two white pills that he held out - d'Artagnan hadn't even realised he'd been speaking aloud.

"These should take the edge off at least," Aramis told him, "But they might also make you drowsy. We can't let you sleep for too long while your concussion is still so recent."

"Thanks." He swallowed them with a small sip of water, looking terribly vulnerable sandwiched between Porthos and Aramis' bulk. Athos' eyes tightened. "Do you have my data with you? I need to show you something."

Treville pulled a pen drive out of his pocket with a flourish and gave it to Athos. "There's a laptop upstairs. Give me a moment." He leaned towards his lieutenant so that he could speak without the others hearing, whispering, "If he's right about this, we could be in serious trouble."

Athos nodded in agreement, his mind already reeling over all the potential problems they were now facing. If it wasn't a Musketeer, then their pool of suspects just became significantly wider and it could mean that they were now dealing with a whole organisation instead of just an individual. As if they didn't have enough to cope with right now.

"How're you feeling kid?" Porthos looked very much like he wanted to help the younger man but had no idea how to, his hands hanging in the air between them awkwardly.

"I've been better," he admitted, then cracked open an eye to smile at them. "I'll be fine, don't worry. I fully intend to make whoever it was who blew up my flat pay for it."

"That's the spirit," Aramis said with a smile, brushing their shoulders together. d'Art seemed to be drawing strength from their presence, and Athos was warmed to see the ease with which his brothers offered and received support without having to verbalise it, knowing what they needed.

Treville reappeared with a battered laptop tucked under one arm, which he very carefully placed in d'Artagnan's lap. Their Captain looked tense, and Athos could sense the rolling unease that was disrupting him - he could feel the same sensation in his own bones. The Musketeers were at risk - someone was trying to _kill_ them - and here they were, sitting in Treville's living room as though they had nowhere better to be.

"Okay," d'Art started, already opening up files from the pen drive as he shook himself properly awake. The first thing he showed them was a list of names. "These are all the Musketeers that have accessed the archives since the first time we were aware there was a mole - our trip to Russia. I went through all of them but nothing raised any flags; as far as I can tell, they were all genuine enquiries with perfectly innocent motives. Oh," he broke off, his eyes catching on a name and a smile curving up his lips. "Except for Ramirez and James in Team Echo. I think they were having some kind of prank war."

"Altering anything in the archives without permission is a punishable offence d'Artagnan," Treville reminded him, and the Gascon made an effort to wipe the smile from his face.

"Yes Sir. They have since both gone back and fixed everything that they changed. There's no damage. But I'm getting off track. My point was, none of the official access records show anything out of the ordinary - the obvious conclusion to that being that someone was able to access the files without going through any of the regular channels."

"A hacker?" Treville had folded himself into an armchair with his elbows resting on his knees, listening intently.

"That's what I thought to start with but to get into the database, you need some serious hardware. I might make disparaging comments about it, but your security protocols are pretty solid."

"You managed to find us in nine days d'Art," Porthos reminded him, "And you didn't even know the Musketeers existed to start with. Who knows how long they've had?"

d'Artagnan blushed just a little, dropping his eyes. "Without wishing to sound _too _big headed, I'm pretty much the best in the world at this right now. Maybe don't use me as the yardstick on which to judge hackers?"

"Not big headed, huh?" Aramis looked proud.

"Shut up. What I'm trying to say is that it's not going to be someone who isn't able to get access legitimately. They're using the same access they do normally, but somehow they're hiding their electronic trace - which is pretty remarkable really. The coding for such a thing has to be immense." d'Artagnan actually looked impressed and Athos cleared his throat to remind him just who it was they were talking about. "Off topic, sorry. Now, what I've been thinking is the only people with access to the Musketeer database who aren't actually Musketeers are the higher-ups - Louis and his men and Richelieu."

"And you," Porthos reminded him.

"And me," d'Artagnan agreed grimly. "I trust that you all believe me when I say that I'm not the mole?"

"Of course," Athos said, waving away the question. "But what you're saying is that the mole is either the Commissioner or the leader of the Red Guards? I might have my issues with the man, but even I don't think that Richelieu would be capable of something like this."

"Not necessarily. The Red Guards have a very different system to the Musketeers, electronically speaking. Richelieu's files are intermingled with everyone else's - they hide in the system to try and make them hard to find but a hacker with enough time on their hands could ferret them out no problem. The main issue they would face is that the database has been isolated in the last few months - apparently I hacked in there one too many times and they got pissed off."

"Don't tell me," Treville groaned. "At least leave me reasonable deniability for whatever laws you've been breaking."

d'Artagnan quirked a smile though it faded rapidly as he pulled up a vaguely familiar blueprint - it was labelled as Red Guard HQ. "If you want their files, you need to be in this building. I find it hard to believe that someone has been breaking in repeatedly for the last few months and no one noticed."

The implication was heavy in his tone and they all looked at each other with their hearts sinking in their chests. "The mole is a Red Guard," Aramis said into the silence, sounding both defeated and angry. "How did we not see this coming?"

Treville's face was dark with anger, his whole frame tense as he launched himself out of the armchair to pace across the room. "Do you know who?"

"Not yet," d'Artagnan admitted. "But the garrison's system is linked with theirs. If we go there, I should be able to give you a name in less than an hour. I know what I'm looking for now."

Porthos could see lines of guilt starting to creep up into d'Artagnan's shoulder and he pressed himself closer against his side, careful not to jostle him. "You did good kid. Real good." d'Art sagged into him bonelessly as though he was a puppet who'd had his strings cut, exhaustion taking over his features again now that he didn't have to remain alert. Aramis looked him over quickly, assessing.

"d'Artagnan needs time to rest," he pointed out to Treville. "I know that we're on the clock here but he's not going to be of any use to anyone when he's exhausted."

d'Artagnan looked ready to argue so Athos stepped in quickly. "Aramis is right. None of us have had any sleep worth a damn and we all need at least a few hours. Can we stay here?"

"Of course," Treville allowed, seeing the fatigue weighing on his men. They all looked rough around the edges. "There's enough beds upstairs to house you all for as long as you need. There's blankets in the cupboard at the top of the stairs. I'll head back to the garrison and get a strike team ready - when we have a name I want to take this bastard down."

* * *

><p>It took the combined support of Athos and Aramis to get d'Artagnan up the stairs without falling, Porthos heading up ahead of them to get one of the beds ready for him. It was clear that he was barely clinging on to consciousness, wincing every time the muscles in his back shifted and the burns pulled painfully. It was hard for all of them to watch him in such pain without being able to do anything about it.<p>

Once he was settled and unconscious again, they took stock of themselves. There was a double bed in what had been the master bedroom and then another single room which Aramis pushed Athos towards without allowing him to argue.

"Porthos and I will be fine," he informed him smartly. "We've shared beds before and you need to sleep."

"So do you."

"I can sleep with someone else in the bed. I know you still struggle with that sometimes," Aramis said quietly enough that Porthos wouldn't hear him. "Go. We'll be alright."

Too tired to offer any further protest, Athos trudged off in the direction of the bedroom, kicking off his shoes and dumping his jacket onto a chair before dropping onto the mattress fully clothed. It wasn't like he had a spare change with him anyway, and he was much too tired to worry about his presentability right now.

It was enough to know that his team were safe and resting, and that they were so much closer to ensuring all the Musketeers would be spared the injustice of another betrayal at the hands of a Red Guard, of all people. Athos felt the blazing anger he'd been cultivating since Russia flare up in his gut and he clenched his fists tightly so he didn't lash out at anything. God help him if he got his hands on the mole - he'd tear the man apart.

But he couldn't worry about that now. Now he just needed to catch up on some much needed rest so that when they did find the mole, he wasn't a completely out of control, exhausted lunatic. No matter who it was, Athos knew that it was suicide to go up against anyone without a clear head on his shoulders, a lesson he'd been trying to teach d'Artagnan since their very first meeting.

There was a soft rustling noise from through the wall beside him, followed shortly by a muffled, "Aramis, please remove your hand." There was more scuffling and then a much louder thump.

"Rude," came Aramis' voice from further away, sounding disgruntled. Athos pictured him on the floor, having been shoved off the mattress by an irate Porthos.

"I told you to move," Porthos reasoned. "You should have listened."

Somehow comforted, Athos let himself drift off with a smile on his face.

* * *

><p>It was a good six hours later when he woke, staggering upright to head for the bathroom, splashing himself with cold water. He'd been tired enough not to dream, which was a blessing at least. Refreshed, he made his way to the room Aramis and Porthos had been sharing and then snorted at the sight before him. Aramis had managed to worm his way back into the bed and had then proceeded to wrap himself around the bigger man as closely as he could, now lying with his head tucked into Porthos' neck and most of his upper body across the man's rib cage. Porthos would not be best pleased when he woke up.<p>

Leaving them to their rest, he headed for d'Artagnan's room only to find the bed empty. He panicked for the briefest of moments before he heard movement beyond the open door to the en-suite.

"d'Art?" He called, stepping forwards hesitantly.

"In here," the boy replied, his voice sounding strangely tight. Once Athos saw him, it was clear why. His tanned skin was terribly pale and his breathing stuttering alarmingly from where he had propped himself against the toilet, his head hanging low on his chest.

"Shit, d'Art," Athos said ineloquently, stumbling forwards to crouch beside him. There was bile in the toilet and on the corner of d'Artagnan's lip - Athos wiped it away carefully with some toilet paper. "Just breathe okay?"

"Sorry," d'Art muttered back.

"Don't be sorry. It's okay, you're okay. Just take deep breaths."

d'Artagnan was trembling, Athos realised with a jolt, his hands shaking so badly that he could barely hold himself upright, and every time he moved his head he winced, the muscles in his back protesting. It almost came as a surprise to realise that d'Artagnan was injured - somehow Athos had only really factored in the concussion when thinking about the kid's state but now he was forcefully reminded of how badly he must be hurting.

"We'll get you some painkillers," Athos told him.

"No," d'Art argued breathlessly. "I'll be alright, just give me a minute. Bad dream."

Athos hummed in sympathy - he was no stranger to nightmares - and rubbed soothing circles into his bare shoulder. d'Artagnan had taken off his shirt to sleep, exposing the amount of damage across his back. No doubt Aramis would want to bandage him up before he allowed him to put on any more clothes.

Speaking of which, all of them could use a fresh shirt at the very least, and d'Artagnan's clothes had all been at his flat. He might be able to get away with borrowing Aramis' clothes for a while, but he was too tall for most of his wardrobe.

After several long moments of bending over the toilet, d'Artagnan was able to struggle to his feet again, leaning on Athos just a little until he found his balance again. "Thanks," he murmured with sincerity.

"Don't mention it. How are you feeling?"

He was half expecting to receive an unconvincing 'I'm fine,' but instead d'Artagnan took a moment to consider it, frowning, before he replied, "The burns feel too tight - every time I move they feel like their about to tear open. And my headache is pretty awful but then, it's nothing I've not had before." Athos knew that well enough. d'Artagnan, like Aramis, had been unfortunate enough to inherit a predilection for migraines and had been forced to call into work sick on more than one occasion, unable to look at the daylight without needing to throw up.

With only slight difficulty, Athos was able to manoeuvre d'Art down the stairs and into the kitchen, settling him as gently as he could on one of the stools at the breakfast counter.

"Alright?"

"Just give me a minute and I will be."

"Sure." d'Art was normally the one to fill the silences when Aramis wasn't around, but bizarrely it was Athos who found himself uncertain in the quiet. Thinking quickly, he settled on the first question that popped into his mind. "Can I ask you something?"

d'Artagnan perked up a little with curiosity. "Shoot."

"Those four things you said you couldn't live without. The things that weren't in your flat. I was wondering what they were." Once the words were out, Athos caught the uncertainty that flashed over d'Art's face, and instantly wanted to kick himself. For all that he seemed like an open book, d'Artagnan hated talking about himself almost as much as Athos did. "You don't have to tell me, forget it, I was just-"

"No, it's alright," d'Artagnan cut him off, offering a weak smile. "You have a right to know. I'm sure you can guess one of them at least anyway."

Still unsure but overrun with curiosity, Athos answered, "Your laptop?"

"Yeah. It was in my locker at the garrison. Should still be there."

"And the other three?"

"You can't guess?"

Athos thought for a long moment, considering everything he'd ever seen d'Artagnan with but he came up blank. Three things, he thought, three things he couldn't bare to lose... The thought came to him quietly and his face instantly broke down into fond softness, heart achingly open. d'Artagnan saw the realisation and smiled more genuinely at him, looking far more wise than a man his age had any right to be. "Us," Athos breathed out.

"Of course. What else?"

Athos wasn't an outwardly emotional man by nature, and he was better at using words as weapons than communication so he sidestepped the awkwardness with a loud mental _'nope' _and wrapped a hand around the back of d'Artagnan's neck to pull him into a loose, gentle embrace. The kid seemed to understand because he came without resistance, his breath hitching a little at the pain of the movement.

After several heartbeats, they released each other, d'Artagnan looking pale but content, a peace in his eyes that Athos could only hope would linger. The relief of the moment was somewhat offset when d'Artagnan swayed in his seat, one hand darting out to grab the counter-top to hold himself upright, waving away Athos' silent offer of aid. d'Art took a deep breath and held it, slowly releasing his hold on the top to prove that he could take his own weight.

Once he was sure that the kid wasn't about to pass out and fall over, Athos looked around them in the hopes that there would be something there that was still edible. A quick rummage in the fridge revealed some cheese that looked vaguely passable if you cut off the mould, some milk that was rapidly becoming cheese and half a tube of tomato purée. The cupboards were a little more eventful, offering several varieties of canned soups - not quite what Athos had had in mind for breakfast.

As he searched there was a scuffling upstairs and some banging, accompanied by muffled shouting and laughter - the others must have finally woken up then.

"Well," Athos started, turning back to a daydreaming d'Artagnan, "Food is a little thin on the ground, it would seem."

"Coffee?" d'Art asked hopefully, eyes skimming over the counters.

"No milk or sugar. If you want it black, I'm fairly sure there's some Carrefour own brand in the cupboard."

d'Artagnan pulled a disgusted face. "Don't even think about that."

Athos smiled a little at the kid's apparent return to the land of the living. He was far more animated now than he had been earlier, though it did mean an increase in the pain lining his face. "We'll send one of the others out, don't worry. I don't think I have the strength to deal with an Aramis with caffeine withdrawal."

"Don't look at me," came Porthos' deep voice as he strode into the kitchen, shirtless and dishevelled but looking rested. Somehow, without a top covering his upper body he looked even bigger than normal, the vast expanse of dark skin rippling with muscles Athos could only dream of obtaining. "If I have to spend the night getting mauled by that monster-" he jerked his head towards the stairs, "-Someone else can make the coffee run."

"I vote Aramis," d'Artagnan put in immediately.

"Way to throw a guy under the bus," the sniper muttered sullenly as he appeared in the doorway, as breathtaking as ever despite his tousled hair and crumpled clothing.

"Well Porthos refused and I'm more likely to win against you than Athos," d'Art reasoned, smiling widely at him.

"Why am I even friends with you?"

Athos looked between them with fondness edging his features. Thinking quickly, he made up his mind. "Okay, new plan. Aramis, have a look over d'Artagnan's burns can you? And see if you can find some pain killers - I don't care what he says," he continued when d'Art tried to argue. "Sit on him and force them down his throat if you have to."

"Sure thing," Aramis agreed with a wide smile that said he would be more than happy to. d'Artagnan subsided glumly.

"Porthos, take my car and go pick up some clothes for all of us. Aramis' things should fit d'Artagnan well enough for now - we can worry about buying him more stuff later. I'll find somewhere to get coffee."

Porthos was still grumbling about having to leave the house so soon, but everyone had perked up at the thought of clean clothes - even d'Artagnan who would be living in borrowed garments until they could set aside enough time to go shopping - so he went without argument. Athos managed to make himself presentable enough to walk the streets of Paris without drawing too much attention and headed out, aiming for a square a few streets down. If he recalled correctly, there was a small coffee shop there that wasn't half bad - though ridiculously overpriced. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it.

Twenty minutes later - ten of which had been spent queuing and a further five wasted on arguing with the barrister about how many sugar packets he was entitled to take - he was letting himself back in, expertly balancing the four thermal cups with one hand. Aramis and d'Artagnan had migrated to the living room and the TV was on what looked like a Spanish game show, the volume turned down too low for Athos to catch the words. The Gascon was still without a t-shirt but most of his back was obscured by a patchwork of gauze and tape - Aramis had spent his time wisely it would see.

Despite appearing to be napping when Athos enter, d'Artagnan stirred the instant he smelt coffee, his whole being perking up as his eyes fixed on the cups in Athos' hands. He reached out and made grabby motions until Athos relented and handed him the one labelled DA.

"Charming as ever," Aramis commented with a raised eyebrow, though he was little better, snatching the cup with AR scrawled on the side without a single word of thanks.

"Scavengers, the lot of you," Athos observed with faux irritation. He settled himself down into an armchair and put Porthos' coffee on the table beside him - well out of anyone else's reach - before taking several scolding sips of his own. As he swallowed carefully, he examined the way d'Artagnan seemed to be doing his best to wrap his body around the small cup. "Aren't you cold?" He asked after watching him shift uneasily for a moment.

d'Artagnan's gaze flickered up to him and then away, followed shortly by a non-committal shrug. "I guess. My temperature's been a bit all over the place though."

Aramis instantly went stiff and breathed in sharply through his nose. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It was like this before the explosion," d'Artagnan defended, as though that made any difference to anything. "I think I'm just coming down with something."

"Not sleeping for several days will do that to you," Athos pointed out. He was aware that he sounded angry but in truth, any anger he'd held against the kid had bled away the instant he saw the flames inside his flat. Sheer panic had a way of making you reorder your priorities.

d'Artagnan looked for a moment as though he wanted to argue but then he subsided, taking a fortifying gulp of his still steaming coffee - seriously, his throat must be a _wreck, _Athos' mouth twinged in sympathy - and then nodding. "You're right. I just... I got so caught up in it all and then Constance-"

He broke himself off but both the others saw the pain in his eyes. "Constance's team was attacked," Aramis said aloud, not mincing his words. He had a knack for knowing when he should be to the point, and when it was okay to speak with as much flowery language as he could come up with. "Peterson and Demaison didn't come back."

"Yeah," d'Art agreed on an exhale. "She called me, the night she came home. I went to see her; she was so distraught and she just needed someone to talk to I think - god knows she couldn't talk to that useless husband of hers." There was distaste in his voice that very rarely took up residence there. It was in fact, almost solely reserved for one Mr. Bonacieux, and Athos couldn't exactly say that he blamed the kid - the man was an asshole and made no secret of the fact that he hated what his wife did for a living. If he'd had any say, Constance would have left the Musketeers years ago.

"This was the night before you requested the transfer, wasn't it?" Athos asked, remembering.

"I went straight from Constance's house to Treville. I just couldn't stand to see her in so much pain without even trying to do something about it. Honestly, leaving the team was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew that I would be far more use in the garrison than the field." His eyes were earnest, determined to make them believe that his hesitation had been genuine.

"I think you underestimate your use in the field," Athos pointed out but then smile gently at the boy. "But I can understand where you're coming from. You don't have to justify yourself to us, d'Art; we want to catch this man just as much as you."

"I think what our fearless leader is trying to say," Aramis put in, "Is that you don't need to be apologising for trying to protect your friends. You did well, don't doubt that. Although," he added almost as an afterthought, "You and I are still going to be having a long discussion about how to properly take care of yourself. You'd have thought someone would have explained to you the benefits of regular meals at the very least."

"Hey, I ate."

"Vending machine chocolate and coffee does not constitute an acceptable diet."

"Who made you the boss?" d'Art ducked away then, dodging the hand Aramis shot out to ruffle the kid's hair. Athos watched as their antics descended into a very half hearted wrestling match - both tired and balancing coffees in one hand and trying to avoid the worst of d'Artagnan's injuries. Going by the lack of pain on the Gascon's features, Athos assumed that Aramis had done as he was bid and found some pain killers for him.

Porthos returned a couple of minutes later, when d'Artagnan and Aramis had settled down again so that they were watching the game show with the kind of interest that can only be summoned in the truly bored.

"I thought we agreed that we weren't going to let the children watch the TV," Porthos commented to Athos idly as he retrieved his coffee, dumping a duffel bag in the hallway. Aramis flipped him the bird and continued muttering translations to d'Art.

"Half an hour won't rot their brains too much. Besides, I wanted to drink my coffee in peace."

Porthos snickered and settled himself on the floor beside Athos' legs, leaning back against the base of the chair. The whole orientation of the room was horribly domestic, and Athos realised with a start that the warm feeling curling in his gut was contentment - he was surrounded by his family and was safe (at least for the moment) and that knowledge was enough to put him more at ease than he had felt in years. When Porthos tilted his head so that it was resting on Athos' knee, the feeling grew so strong that he almost chocked on it.

But as with all good things, it had to come to an end sooner or later. Treville was expecting them at the garrison and there was still a madman roaming the world who had tried to kill d'Artagnan only yesterday.

He swallowed the last dregs of his coffee and nudged Porthos' head to rouse him from his dose. "Okay, time to start the day. You manage to get clothes for all of us?" He directed the question at the back of Porthos' head.

"It's all in the bag," he said with an idle wave in the direction of the duffel. "I rummaged in Aramis' stuff for something big enough for d'Art. It won't be elegant but..."

"It's better than just my skin, I suppose," d'Artagnan allowed, but they could tell he was a little put out at the thought. Perhaps it was just the reminder that he had serious amounts of personal shopping to do.

"You can stay with me until you find a new flat, d'Art," Athos offered. "We're not just going to leave you to flounder."

d'Artagnan nodded, a grateful smile playing about his lips, but he still looked downhearted. "It's just going to be a lot of money, that's all. It's something I would rather have gone without."

"I'm sure Athos will buy you anything you need," Aramis told him before Athos had the chance to offer it himself. Few of the Musketeers knew that Athos was descended from a long line of aristocrats, which came with the privilege of inheriting vast amounts of money, but Aramis and Porthos were willing to make full use of the opportunity whenever they could. Knowing the backgrounds that they came from, Athos could hardly blame them.

"Oh," d'Artagnan said, momentarily surprised. "That's not necessary, I can manage-"

"d'Artagnan," Athos cut him off smoothly. "Whilst I would not normally encourage such behaviour, in this instance, you should follow Aramis' lead. If you ever need money, you're more than welcome to some of mine - I have more than enough. Besides, I've bought enough crap for these two over the years that you're entitled."

The Gascon still looked uncertain but he already knew just how wealthy Athos was - when he'd been finding out everything he could about the man before he met him, it had been hard to miss the assortment of prestige bank accounts and bonds - so in the end he nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Besides, it's a problem for another day. First things first. Showers."

There were two bathrooms upstairs, so d'Artagnan (being careful of the bandages) and Porthos went first (Aramis had done his very best to get in before Porthos but no matter how fast he was, he couldn't hope to match the bigger man in strength - eventually Athos had been forced to order Aramis downstairs, lest they all be held up by the impromptu wrestling match). As they waited, Athos questioned their sniper about d'Artagnan's condition.

"He's in better shape than you might expect," he was told, "Though that's still miles away from _good. _At least everything looks as though it should heal cleanly enough. Even so, his back will be scarred for a long while I should imagine."

"He doesn't seem the type to be bothered by that."

"Recently, he hasn't seemed the type to be bothered by anything," Aramis retorted, and there was a warning note in his voice that alerted Athos.

"You think something's going on?"

Aramis shrugged, unsure. "His flat was just obliterated with him almost inside it - whether he considers it home or not, that's a big deal and he's barely even interested. If it were me, I'd be screaming bloody murder."

"He's exhausted as it is," Athos reasoned. "With the amount of sleep he's had, I'm surprised he can form a coherent sentence, let alone build up sufficient anger for this."

"It's more than that Athos, and you know it. He's been off for a while now, even before Sierra team were attacked. I think it started at the hospital."

There were many instances in their lives that could be referred to as 'the hospital' but Athos knew the exact one he was referring to - their most recent visit when Athos was recovering from a bullet wound. "He was fine then. Happy even. Glad to not be at odds with you."

Aramis grimaced a little at the reminder of how he had acted. "I know. But after that, didn't he seem a little... _intense _to you?"

"Like something was on his mind and he kept having to force it away," Athos agreed. He hadn't even noticed at the time but looking back, it seemed obvious. "Too busy trying not to be distracted."

"Exactly," Aramis said, mouth tilting down. "I think that after today, we all need to have a long sit down with him and explain the benefits of working in a team."

"You're probably right," Athos admitted as he heard one of the showers upstairs shut off, followed shortly by the other. "Another problem that we need to worry about later. Come on. Treville's probably expecting us already."

* * *

><p>They were all climbing into the car ten minutes later, Athos having recovered his car keys from a reluctant Porthos. It was remarkable the difference a shower and a change of clothes could make. They all seemed somehow stronger, more collected, than they had when they'd crawled out of bed this morning. Even d'Artagnan, injured and wearing trousers that just barely covered his ankles, looked like he was ready to take on the world.<p>

Treville was indeed waiting for them, with some impatience too, though it softened when he saw the slight pallor in d'Artagnan's skin that the kid hadn't been able to shake.

"I have Golf and Mike teams ready and waiting," the Captain told them as he ushered them into a conference room and closed the door. "There's space if you three want in on this." The statement was not directed at d'Artagnan, though the kid's head still perked up.

Athos shot him a look that said _'no way in hell,' _and then turned back to Treville. "It would be our pleasure."

The Captain nodded, clearly having expected that answer. "There's tac vests and munitions in the locker room for you. d'Artagnan if the next words out of your mouth are anything to do with you being involved in this op, I will send you home," he added, when the Gascon opened his mouth to argue.

d'Artagnan flushed at being treated like a child, but he didn't have a leg to stand on and he knew it. He technically wasn't even a member of Alpha team at this point, injury or no.

"Good," Treville said when the silence had stretched. "You told me that you could give me a name? Get to it. If you need anything, tell me and we'll make it happen."

"Just my laptop. It shouldn't take long."

Athos didn't particularly want to leave d'Artagnan alone when he had that half pained, half sad look on his face, but there was little choice. There was no way he was sending Aramis and Porthos out into the field with unfamiliar teams when he wasn't there to watch their backs and besides, he wanted to take this bastard down himself.

He ushered the rest of his team towards the locker room as quickly as he could, intent on snagging his equipment and then returning in as little time as he could manage. He was somewhat delayed when Matthias appeared at his elbow, pulling him to a stop.

"I know there's nothing I can say that will convince you to let me go with you," he started, glancing meaningfully at his sling, "So I'll just say this: Make that bastard pay."

Seeing the emotion there, Athos could do little else but nod and promise, "I will."

Thoughts whirring unhappily, he made his way back to where he'd left d'Artagnan with his tac vest hanging off one shoulder and an assault rifle on a strap around his neck. A glance over his shoulder revealed Aramis and Porthos following in his wake, their faces already lined with the concentration needed in an op.

d'Artagnan was frowning furiously at his laptop, fingers almost blurring with the speed of his typing. Athos watched him for a moment with the familiar awe creeping through him as he snapped the Velcro straps on his vest closed, taking comfort from the secure tightness.

"Watching me is _not _helping," d'Artagnan informed them waspishly, his frown growing more pronounced. "Go prepare somewhere else."

Aramis clutched his chest as though wounded and Porthos chuckled quietly, both trying for levity. "Someone's edgy."

"_Someone _is trying to do their damn job."

"We're not stopping you," Aramis pointed out. At the murderous expression on d'Artagnan's face, Athos took pity and dragged his team mates further away.

"Let the poor kid work. Better yet, go and see how far along in prep the other teams are. Fill them in on everything we know."

With only mild disgruntlement that was completely for show, the others headed off down the corridor. Once they were out of sight, Athos turned back to d'Artagnan hesitantly.

"I'm not pressuring you, but can you give me a timescale here?"

d'Artagnan sighed and paused in his typing long enough to glare at him. "I don't _know. _More than a minute, less than an hour. If you want to take over, you're more than welcome to."

His voice was harsh, angry, but Athos knew that it was just impatience and self-deprecation getting in the way - d'Artagnan had spent much too long blaming himself for the continued presence of the mole and as soon as Athos had the man in custody he was going to sit down with the Gascon and remind him what happened to people who let themselves be crushed by things that weren't their fault. He himself was a prime example, and it had taken years of support from his brothers before he even began to understand that. He wasn't going to let the same thing happen to d'Artagnan.

Realising that right now, the most he could do was give him space, Athos put a radio down beside him. "I have to go and check on the other teams. Call me on this if you find anything, okay?"

d'Artagnan nodded without even glancing up, and Athos left with a heavy sigh. They'd all seemed so together that morning and now it felt like everything was coming apart at the seams again. Once the mole had been taken down, Athos was going to petition Treville to give the team at least a week of peace (excluding the SSEs of course - the Captain would skin them if they missed them again).

Aramis and Porthos had gathered teams Golf and Mike in one of the larger conference rooms and were giving them a brief overview of what had happened in the last few days when Athos entered. He lingered in the doorway, taking the time to examine the agents who were all in the process of strapping on vests or checking their weapons. It had been a long while since Alpha team had worked with the agents in Golf and Athos couldn't ever remember working with Mike team in his whole time as a Musketeer.

But if they'd been commissioned, there must be something in them that was special, and Athos had spent far too much of his life trusting Treville's judgement to start doubting him now.

Porthos summed up his little spiel, and turned expectantly to Athos. The lieutenant sighed, intimately aware that every eye in the room had just turned to him. He was a natural leader, and despite his socially awkward tendencies he'd never been much bothered by public speaking - several years as Treville's second in command had destroyed any hesitation whatsoever.

"Okay, you've heard what's happening," he started, loudly enough for his voice to carry to all of them. "I know that the Musketeers have suffered, and I'm sure that you've all lost people who mattered to you. Believe me when I tell you that I am just as furious as you are but we can't allow our emotions to get in the way of our work. This has to be done by the book, understood?"

There was a general murmur of agreement, though several faces were drawn into hard lines of hate. Athos knew that they would all do as they were ordered, but there wasn't a single person in that room who would care if the mole took a stray bullet.

Aramis and Porthos appeared at his elbow, watching him closely. "d'Artagnan?"

"He's working on the name. Now isn't the time to worry about anything else - once this is over we can deal with everything else."

Aramis hummed unhappily. "I don't like this. For the record."

"Me neither," Porthos concurred, frowning at a member of Golf team who was struggling with their vest. "All this fire power for one man? This doesn't seem like overkill to you?"

It did, Athos realised. Normally a single team would be deemed sufficient for something like this, as a maximum. Sending eleven agents into the Red Guard HQ would look like an act of war to anyone who didn't know what was happening, and Athos was suddenly sharply aware that Richelieu would be the type of man to shoot first and ask questions later.

"I have to speak to Treville," he said aloud, the realisation still rattling around his skull.

"We're coming too," Aramis informed him in the kind of voice that didn't leave room for argument. Athos, more comforted by their support than he was willing to admit, didn't say a word to stop them.

The Captain was in his office, leaning heavily on his desk with his head bowed. He glanced up when he heard the door open, eyes flashing with resignation as he took in their questioning expressions.

"Any word from d'Artagnan?"

"Nothing yet," Athos told him.

"Then shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"That's what we want to ask about." He hesitated a little, glancing at the others for support. Porthos bumped his shoulder against him, silently reminding him that they were there, they were on his side. "You've assigned three teams to this. Eleven agents, with d'Artagnan out of action. Against one man."

"One man who has been single handedly responsible for the deaths of seven agents, might I remind you," Treville said sharply, but he sounded more defeated than angry. He wouldn't meet Athos' eyes.

"What's going on sir?" Aramis was always the one to be straight to the point when something was making him uncomfortable, and right now his muscles looked as though they were actually vibrating with the tension running through them.

Treville sighed into his hand as he rubbed at his face, looking horribly weary. He looked as though he was weighing up whether or not he should tell them. "I can't trust Richelieu not to try something," he said eventually.

"What do you mean?" Athos thought that he probably knew, but he needed to hear it aloud.

"If I tell him that one of his men has been betraying him, then I have no guarantee that he'll just hand him over to us. Knowing him, he'd want to make an example of him, and we wouldn't even have a chance of getting close."

"So you're not telling him that we're coming."

"No. But that means that we're walking into that building unannounced and armed - I can only expect the Red Guards to respond aggressively."

Athos sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, eyes closing in desperation. He knew that Treville was right - if they told Richelieu then he would never turn the mole over to anyone else and if they didn't then they were invading the HQ of a fellow, rival law enforcement agency. There was a high chance they'd all lose their jobs for this.

"You have to tell them," Porthos pointed out when Athos stayed silent for too long. "They could be _arrested _for this. You can't just order them to walk in there without telling them what they're risking." There was a tight anger in his voice and Aramis automatically put a hand on his arm to steady him. When sufficiently provoked, Porthos had the fiercest temper Athos had ever seen and there were few things he hated more than people having their ability to choose taken from them.

"You think I don't know that?" Treville looked animated for the first time, anger sparking in his eyes. "I know that every time I send agents out there's a chance that they might not come back, and even if they survive, capture is tantamount to a death sentence. My hands are always tied up in red tape. I _will not _let Richelieu use his connections to stop one of his men from coming to justice, no matter what."

He was looking to Athos for support, but despite agreeing with all his heart, the lieutenant couldn't bring himself to nod. "You're right," he admitted, ignoring Porthos hissed intake of breath. "We have to arrest the mole and we can't let Richelieu get in the way. But I cannot ask the agents in that room to walk into that situation without even telling them what's going on."

"I'm with you," Aramis put in. "Richelieu can hang himself for all I care. But something like this is a choice that everyone has to make for themselves with _all _the information. Tell them."

"We've lost friends Captain," Athos pointed out. "I doubt any of them will want to pull out."

Treville was quiet for a long time, looking between the three of them with the knowledge that he'd never win an argument against all of them when they were so certain. Eventually, he sighed. "Tell them what you will. I'm putting this op in your hands, Athos."

"Yes sir."

Their journey back to the conference room was undertaken in silence, the air around them thick with anticipation and worry. It was one thing to walk into a situation knowing that they were risking their lives, but another entirely to know that they could very well be arrested for what they were about to do.

Just before they walked into the room, Athos dragged them to a halt. "We're not telling d'Artagnan this, agreed?"

"You want us to lie to him?" Aramis looked vaguely ill at the idea but Porthos caught on much faster, nodding heavily.

"What we're doing is all kinds of illegal. If he doesn't know what we're doing, he can't be held accountable – it's the only way to keep him safe, Aramis."

The marksman's eyes darkened as he realised the truth in his words. "He'll hate us."

"If it keeps him from being arrested and tried as a traitor to the state, I can live with that," Athos said. He clapped a hand to their shoulders, squeezing softly in an act of comfort that was for him as much as it was for them. The last few days had been hard on all of them, and the cracks were starting to show through their hard, practiced exteriors – one way or another, this had to end here.

The agents were waiting for them in the conference room, some more patiently than others, but they all perked up at Athos' reappearance. He looked around at them all and found himself wondering just how many would be willing to walk away from this now and how many were already too invested to care about any potential dangers.

"Some of you might be wondering," he started, hesitant without really knowing why, "Why so many agents are being sent after one man. The truth is that if we warn Richelieu that there is a mole in his operation, then he will never agree to simply hand him over to us and our Captain will not allow this man to get away with everything he has done to this regiment." There was a stirring of support for that statement, disgust flickering across a few a faces at the thought.

Athos left a moment of silence to let the idea sink in before he continued. "However, if we do not tell the Red Guards what we're planning, it means that armed Musketeers will be walking into their HQ without warning. It is unlikely that they will see this as anything other than an act of war." A couple of shouts went up then as the agents voiced their protests. "Neither myself nor Treville," he said, allowing his volume to raise high enough to drown out any interruption, "Are willing to order any of you to accompany my team in this mission. At best, this is likely to lead to our arrests. At worst, the Red Guards will simply open fire. It is not within me to order any of you to risk your lives like this, and I will not do so. Any agent in this room who wishes to have no part in this can leave now without judgement and will not suffer any repercussions for their actions."

Despite what he'd said to Treville, Athos was expecting that at least a handful of people would choose that moment to slip away from the group – they had families to think of, plans and lives that they weren't willing to give up just yet.

No one moved.

The silence stretched as Athos looked around at them all, struggling to comprehend the level of faith these men and women had in him, and their loyalty to the regiment, that they would throw away everything to do this. A woman at the back of the room – Kate, Athos thought her name was – raised her hand in a salute. "All for one!"

In a sudden wave, the agents in front of her pulled up to attention to flash salutes as well. When the response came, Athos joined in: "And one for all."

With their leader still feeling just a little overwhelmed, it was left to Aramis to offer them all a heartfelt _'thank you,' _whilst Porthos tugged on Athos' arm to get his attention.

"Nice speech," he commented with a gentle smile. "Treville should get you to make them more often."

"He knows that I'd quit as soon as he tried," Athos reminded him. He might be a natural leader, but he had absolutely no intention of giving up his gun to rally the troops from behind a desk.

Porthos was cut off from replying to that when the radio at Athos' hip buzzed with static before clearing into d'Artagnan's voice. _"Athos? I have something you might want to take a look at."_

"On our way," he said into the microphone as he gestured for Porthos to retrieve Aramis. Their marksman had a habit of wandering off when they weren't paying attention and this time he seemed to have fallen into conversation with a small, red-haired woman who Athos had seen throwing agents twice her size around on the training mats of the gym – if Aramis was sniffing out a new conquest, he should probably watch himself.

d'Artagnan was where they'd left him, but approximately ten times more furious. He opened the conversation with a bitten out, "First: lying to me? Really?"

Athos blinked in surprise. "What-"

"Don't play dumb or I swear to god, I'll punch you. Just because I'm not going with you on this op, it doesn't give you the right to withhold important information like, oh, I don't know: This is going to get you all _arrested_?"

"How do you even know about that?" It wasn't worth even pretending not to know at this point – d'Artagnan was good at sniffing out lies when he was talking to someone face to face.

"I work for a government secret agency, remember?"

"Technically, we never lied to you," Aramis put in, utterly unhelpfully. "Just withheld certain truths. It's for your own protection."

"Fuck you," d'Artagnan told him sharply, but he seemed to have cooled himself a little. "Next time, you tell me these things."

"You said you had something for us?" Athos wasn't about to promise the kid something that he wasn't sure he could uphold. If he had to lie to protect one of his brothers, then he would do it without hesitation or remorse.

"A name, as it happens. But the name isn't the interesting part."

"You know who the mole is?"

"Technically? It's a man called Arthur Adelmant."

It wasn't a name that Athos recognised, but then he wasn't on friendly terms with most of the Red Guards anyway. There were sure to be plenty of them that he'd never met. "Then we've got what we need." He turned to leave, aware of Aramis and Porthos falling into step behind him.

"No, wait," d'Artagnan called, looking irritated. "This is important. Just, hold up a minute, okay? Christ. Adelmant's the man finding the information but there's more to it than that. I found his files. He's been in the Red Guards about a year now – nothing special, it would seem but he gets the job done and doesn't cause a fuss."

"Typical going nowhere type of guy," Athos summed up, impatient. "Why should I care?"

"Because that 'going nowhere' guy apparently has sufficient connections to be able to contact about six different terrorist organisations to warn them about what we're doing. Remember how he told Dagarov that we were coming? For a man who's been in the business for twelve months, it's impressive. Unbelievably so, in fact."

"He's not working alone."

"Nope. And I think I can tell you who." Athos raised his eyebrows expectantly when d'Artagnan hesitated. "You won't like it."

"Just tell me."

"Well, I can't be sure exactly. But what I do know is that three days before our trip to Russia, Adelmant paid a visit to the Maison d'arrêt de la Santé, and spent several hours there talking to one of their high security prisoners."

Maison d'arrêt de la Santé was a maximum security prison in Montparnasse and to Athos, it meant only one thing: "Milady."

Porthos swore softly to himself and Aramis looked to the ceiling as though it might offer him advice. "I thought we'd gotten rid of her when we locked her up."

"Well, apparently going to jail hasn't stopped her from wanting the Musketeers destroyed. Whether she's directly involved or not, she's got to be giving Adelmant council at the very least. Since his first visit there, he's returned almost weekly to see her."

"She's in MaxSec though, isn't she?" Porthos pointed out. "You can't speak to her without the conversations being recorded."

Athos could feel the cold fingers of the past creeping up his spine and he shook himself to relieve the sensation. He didn't have time to fall apart now. "This is a problem to face later. Right now there is an Arthur Adelmant who I very much want to meet. Milady isn't going anywhere for the moment."

"I have a picture," d'Artagnan offered, thrusting a sheet of paper towards Athos. A head shot of a middle aged, balding man stared up at him. "I'll do what I can from here to stop Louis ordering your arrests. Try not to get killed."

It was said in a light-hearted tone, but they could all see the true worry curling the lines of his shoulders. There was nothing that they could say that would make this any better, but Aramis pressed a careful hand to d'Artagnan's shoulder in reassurance. "We'll do our best. You've given us the best shot at this."

"Your comforting sucks," d'Art told him, but there was a small smile on his face again so they counted it as a win. "Get out of here."

"We'll be back before you know it," Porthos said as they left, throwing him a jaunty wave that did nothing but make d'Artagnan scowl.

Athos just hoped with all his heart that this wouldn't be the last time they saw each other.

* * *

><p>The Red Guard's Headquarters was nothing like the under-stated office building that the Musketeers called home. They had a vast, sprawling compound on the north bank of the river that was supposedly full of the latest technology and state of the art equipment – to Athos it just looked like a massive target for all the wrong-doers of the world.<p>

"Adelmant's key card was used ten minutes ago to access the Rochefort building on the south side of the compound. Treville is currently talking to the Commissioner to try and convince him that we're not terrorists but so far, we have to work under the assumption that there's no back up coming. Our main aim is to retrieve the target – _alive _– and avoid any casualties, including the Red Guards. Guns are restricted to life-or-death situations and prioritise non-lethal shots. Are we clear?"

In the second transport, Aramis and Porthos would be giving the same speech to the remaining agents. They had one shot at this. No room for mistakes.

His earpiece buzzed for a moment and he prodded at it, wincing at the static. _"Okay, so good news and bad news."_

d'Artagnan had fallen easily into his usual role of behind the scenes tech wizard, and had been running information back and forth between everyone with a level of professionalism you might not expect from an injured, over-tired young man. Athos was more proud than he could say. "Isn't there always. What's going on?"

"_Well, the good news is that Treville's convinced Louis that he doesn't need to send in the police – not sure if that will hold up once Richelieu's said his piece but for now at least, you're not under imminent threat of arrest. The bad news is that Richelieu has caught on to what's happening. He's heading your way with a team."_

"Armed?"

"_I don't know."_

Athos spared a moment to sigh heavily. "Could you maybe find out? It's something we could really do with knowing."

"_I'm doing my best here, alright? I don't have access to the Red Guard's CCTV right now. I can try and get it, but I thought I was trying to not piss them off."_

"Shit."

"_I did warn you that it was the bad news."_

"_Will they get there before us?"_ Aramis' voice was a little scratchy with static.

"_I don't think so but they won't be far behind you. I doubt you'll be able to be in and out before he arrives."_

"We'll bear that in mind. Keep in touch."

"_Of course."_

Kate – which was indeed her name, Athos had discovered – was sat beside him, her eyes darting over the other agents in the vehicle protectively. She was the leader of Golf team and had been dating Demaison from Sierra team for several months before he died. She had made no secret of the fact that she would shoot Adelmant without hesitation should the need arise. Athos had taken about two minutes to decide that he liked her.

"This keeps getting better and better," she said calmly, lips twitching into a sharp smile. Her rage simmered at the surface but she managed to hold it back with a wide smile and quick wit.

"If Richelieu thinks that one team is going to be enough to stop us, then he is woefully underprepared."

"And yet, you're still worried. Come on boss, lighten up. We all chose to be here and we all know the risks. You didn't have to tell us but you did, and everyone knows that. You've earned our loyalty and now, we're going to pay it back. A handful of Red Guards ain't got nothing on us."

"Once this is over, I'll share your optimism." He looked away then as he felt their slowing down, glancing forwards to try and orientate himself. Rochefort building rose up before him looking entirely innocent of the things it housed. "Time to put our game faces on. Porthos, you guys ready?"

"And waiting. Let's do this."

Despite the fact that they had no intention of shooting, it was mutually agreed that they should enter the building with their rifles up, a clear warning to anyone they came across that they were not to be messed with. The first few people they saw ducked into offices almost immediately, watching them as they went by in silence. Some of the ones with handguns on their belts put their hands to them but thankfully, no one seemed willing to fire the first shot.

"_Adelmant's card accessed a room on the first floor a few minutes ago. North side of the building._" At least with d'Artagnan guiding them, they wouldn't look completely lost.

They'd reached the top of the stairs by the time d'Art spoke again. _"Richelieu's just reached the building. Watch your backs."_

A series of quick hand signals left Golf team behind to guard the staircase they'd just come up and sent Mike team down the corridor to watch the elevator so that Aramis, Athos and Porthos could find their man. Luck, for once, was on their side, and Rochefort building was actually one of the smaller structures of the compound, meaning that there wasn't a lot of space to search through.

Adelmant was cowering in a small office with the lights off, as though hoping that they wouldn't find him there – Aramis scoffed in disgust as Porthos snapped some cuffs on the man, none to gently by the looks of it. In all honesty, Athos would just be grateful to get the man back to the garrison without one of his own men shooting him – a few bruises really weren't going to be a problem.

"You can't do this," Adelmant protested, "I'm a Red Guard. They won't stand for this!"

"I couldn't give a shit," Porthos snapped back, forcing him towards the door. "You've gotten far too many Musketeers killed for Richelieu to stop us."

Adelmant kept up a litany of pathetic pleas and excuses as they dragged him back down the hallway, reclaiming Mike team as they went. Athos trusted them all to follow their orders, but he still kept himself between the agents and their prisoner, just in case one of them couldn't contain their anger.

It wasn't until they hit the stairs that they encountered trouble. Kate was practically nose to nose with Richelieu, who had five armed Red Guards at his back, all glaring menacingly at them as they approached.

"Is there a problem here?" Athos asked as calmly as he could, instinctively seeking out cover in case bullets started flying.

Kate didn't look away from Richelieu but she stepped back to allow him to move closer. "He wanted to come through boss," she informed him. "Orders were not to let anyone through."

"Yes, they were." He turned back to Richelieu and saw the sparks of hate flying off the man. They'd had plenty of run ins in the past, but for some reason, the Cardinal – as he was known – had hated Athos from the start, despite having no real reason to. Maybe it was simply because he chose to be a Musketeer and not a Red Guard. "Are we going to have a problem?"

"You have no right to arrest this man," Richelieu spat, an angry flush painting his pale skin. "Nor do you have permission to be here. What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"The Musketeers discovered that this man was selling state secrets. In the interests of not giving him time to get away, we came here immediately with the intention of bringing him in for questioning – there was not time to inform you of our plans or to seek official sanction. If you have a problem with the way we've handled things, I suggest that you take it up with General Treville." Using the Captain's official rank was a fairly childish way of trying to intimidate Richelieu but if it worked, Athos wasn't going to complain.

"If this man has done as you say, then he is Red Guard responsibility and you will hand him over this instant into my custody."

"Until we have questioned him, Adelmant remains an integral part of an ongoing Musketeer investigation. Handing him over would ruin months of work. I am under orders to return him to my garrison."

"I don't care what your orders are. _I'm _ordering you to stand down."

"And as a Musketeer, I do not have to follow your orders," Athos reminded him, tension starting to creep into his tone. If he couldn't keep himself civil, this could all go wrong very quickly. "There is no way this ends with me handing him over to you."

"You expect me to just let you walk out of here?"

Athos felt every single agent behind him go tense, reacting to the low warning in Richelieu's voice. He was only a few words away from engaging in a firefight with another French law enforcement agency, on French soil. How was this his life? "I think that you don't want this to turn messy any more than I do. And that means that you're going to have to let us go and let us take Adelmant."

"I think you'll find that Red Guards outnumber Musketeers here," Richelieu informed him snidely. "Things turning out messy will end worse for you than for me."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Athos said, refusing to rise to the bait. "If there's an incident here, then people are going to be forced to investigate and that means that sooner or later the world is going to know you had a traitor in your ranks for months, and didn't know a thing. I can't imagine your publicity would benefit from that kind of attention."

The air had gone very still around them, as both teams held their breaths. The conversation was something of a moot point anyway because if this did end in violence, there was no well in hell Athos or Richelieu would be walking away again at the end. They would be the first targets to be taken down. Athos didn't give much of a damn about his own life one way or the other, but Richelieu was a known survivor. This all came down to him.

"What has Adelmant done to the Musketeers that you would risk coming here?"

"He is a traitor to this country. That's enough for us to want to take him down."

"If that was all this was about, you'd be handing him over to me and running off home with your tail between your legs. This is personal and I want to know _why._"

Athos didn't want to tell him – it was the equivalent of playing his hand – but Richelieu wasn't giving him much of a choice and his men were looking awfully twitchy. "The secrets he was selling were primarily involved in Musketeer operations. We lost several agents due to his actions. Our Captain would like to correct that."

There was a glint in Richelieu's eyes that Athos didn't like one little bit. It was a warning to anyone who knew to look that trouble was on the horizon. His finger slipped closer to the trigger of his rifle.

"I'm sure he would," the Cardinal agreed eventually, that small smile still peeking out at the corner of his lips. He waved a hand almost lazily. "Stand down."

The men behind him immediately lowered their weapons and relaxed into a more natural stance. Athos eyed them with surprised wariness.

"I cannot fault Treville for wanting this man brought to justice, even if he is willing to launch an unauthorised attack on my own men. You're free to leave in peace, with Adelmant."

Behind him, the Musketeers relaxed all at once, but Athos could feel his own heart racing. This had to be a trap of some kind. Richelieu wasn't just going to give up on something like this, was he? He wasn't the type of man.

But it didn't matter. The Red Guards were pulling to the sides to allow the Musketeers through, and Athos could do nothing apart from gesture his men forwards, letting them move past him as he kept his eyes on the Cardinal. Aramis remained in his place at Athos' shoulder, still clutching a handgun tightly.

"Just like that?"

"As you said, Monsieur de la Fere. I wouldn't want for this to get messy." There was absolutely no sincerity in his voice, but there was nothing Athos could do. Feeling like a rabbit caught in a trap, he stepped around the Cardinal.

A hand snapped out to wrap around his bicep with alarming strength and half a second later, Aramis had the muzzle of his handgun pressed to Richelieu's temple, his eyes wild. Somewhere ahead of them, Porthos was watching with crippling uncertainty as he ushered the rest of the Musketeers and Adelmant down the stairs.

"Let him go," Aramis growled.

Richelieu ignored the man entirely, focussing on Athos' eyes with an intensity that felt somehow violating. "A parting message. Do tell your beloved Captain that I will be seeing him soon to discuss this… encounter."

Athos jerked his arm out of Richelieu's grip. "I'll pass that along." As soon as he was free, Aramis dropped his gun again and ushered him towards the stairs as quickly as they could go without running. Porthos had waited for them, and wrapped his hand around one of the straps on Aramis' vest as soon as they were in arm's reach. "What the fuck was that?"

"Nothing we can worry about now," Athos said shortly, hurrying down the stairs. "We have to get out of here, right now."

"_Is everyone alright?" _ d'Artagnan sounded as though he'd been panicking for some time, but he only chose now to involve himself. _"I could only hear half the conversation."_

"No one's hurt, and we're heading out with Adelmant. About as good as we could expect."

"_Well, if it's of any comfort, Louis has promised that he will leave Richelieu and Treville to sort out any hostilities in light of these events. Whatever happens, you're not going to prison."_

"Richelieu might try and kill us in our sleep though," Aramis pointed out, only half joking.

"_Well, yes."_

"For now, can we please just get out of here and sign off on a job well done?" Athos asked as they headed for the vehicles. "I feel as though we've earned the night off."

"_If someone could loan me a bed for the night, I'd be grateful."_

From the way Aramis' eyes lit up, Athos knew that it was going to be a sleepover-at-Athos' type of night anyway. "Sure thing kid."

* * *

><p><em>SERIES TWO TRAILER HOT DAMN I AM NOT OKAY<em>

_Also. This chapter is 12,000 words. That's the longest chapter of anything I've ever written. Good lord. _

_Happy Christmas you guys. Have a great one :)_


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